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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656889">Take it easy, take it easy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturionic/pseuds/sturionic'>sturionic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adorable Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Gen, Grief/Mourning, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Morgan Stark are Siblings, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Temporary Character Death, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Is A Hot Mess</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:53:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>58,855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sturionic/pseuds/sturionic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tony," Rhodes groans, "I am begging you. Please just explain your thought process to me, man. I want to understand where you’re at.”</p><p>“Well, honey bear, it’s simple. Kid needs a home. I have a home. I need another pair of hands to help take care of this baby. The kid has hands.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay.” Rhodes rolls his eyes. “You didn’t answer my first question. What makes you think he’ll even want to live with you?”</p><p>Tony raises an eyebrow. “I told you,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Morgan likes him, and he likes Morgan. Plus, we bonded. In space.”</p><p>“Okay!” Rhodes throws up his hands in resignation. “Okay. I give up. Whatever. Adopt Spider-Man. Jesus Christ."</p><p>-</p><p>Peter survives the Snap only to find he's alone once again, and Tony Stark steps off the Benatar to find James Rhodes holding his month-old daughter with Pepper nowhere in sight. At first it's an arrangement of convenience and mutual grief. Someday, God willing, it might become a family.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Rhodey" Rhodes &amp; Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker &amp; Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1098</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>How does your Garden Grow?</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Don't look back, I'm just on my way back home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Me: "Huehuheue I'm going to keep writing in The Idiotverse"<br/>Also Me: "Huehuheuehe guess what new Endgame AU"</p><p>Basically all you need to know is that Morgan Stark is born about a week before the events of Infinity War. The rest of the canon divergence is pretty self-evident.</p><p>I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! I do still have a lot to write in my other 'verse but I guess my brain still had a lot of angst it needed to puke out into the world. Now go forth and enjoy my literary puke. (Delightful. Self-promotion is my gift.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Kid? Where’d you come from?”</p><p>“Field trip - <em>to MOMA!</em> Ugh. What’s this guy’s problem, Mr. Stark?”</p><p>“Uh, he came from space, to steal a necklace from a wizard. Listen, kid, I gotta be home by eight to put the baby to bed, so if we can-”</p><p>“Cool, cool. How’s Ms. Potts?”</p><p>“Well, you know, still drowning in the pregnancy hormones and now there’s this - this whole thing with a giant flying donut full of alien invaders - kid, there’s the wizard -”</p><p>“On it!”</p><p>Later, when Tony tells the kid “This is a one-way ticket,” he feels the words down to the very bottom of his stomach. There’s a part of him that thinks he could maybe justify it, leaving his wife and week-old daughter in a last-ditch attempt to preserve half of all living things; and then there’s a part of him that knows deep down he’s committed an unforgivable sin.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Mr. Stark?” the kid says shakily. Tony feels his entire body go cold, as if he’d had a bucket of ice dumped over his head. He forces himself to rip his gaze away from the last floating particles of Stephen Strange and turns.</p><p>“You’re alright,” he says. <em>Not him,</em> he thinks wildly, pleading to whatever might be out there listening, <em>please, not him.</em></p><p>There’s a long pause as the kid stares at him, wide-eyed and terrified.</p><p>“Yeah,” he whispers. Tony’s shoulders sag in relief. “But - they’re-” the kid gestures vaguely, opens and closes his mouth soundlessly a few times. “Mr. Stark, what are we gonna do?”</p><p>In another world Tony Stark gives in to the grief, the rage, the loss. He spends a long time on Titan. Staring at the dust on his hands, and at a foreign sun setting over a dead planet.</p><p>In this one Peter Parker looks at him like he might have a plan, or even the foggiest idea of a next step. So he does what he does best - fakes it and hopes he’ll make it.</p><p>“We have to get back to Earth,” Tony says. The effect on the kid is immediate. His face loses some of the wide-eyed terror and he stands just a bit straighter. “Think you can learn to co-pilot a busted spaceship?”</p><p>“Yep,” the kid says. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Peter isn’t bad company, all things considered. Tony really had intended to get to know him better, get a better handle on the whole ‘mentor’ thing, but then Pepper had silently showed him a stick with two pink lines on it and they’d allowed themselves to be cautiously optimistic, then there was the elopement and all of the baby prep, and by the time Morgan Stark came squalling into the world Peter had faded into the background of his mind. It seemed like the kid was doing just fine without him. Keeping low to the ground like he’d promised. Tony checked in with him about modifications to the suit every once in a while, which worked well enough to quell the occasional pangs of guilt.</p><p>
  <em>“How’s the kid?” Pepper had asked him, about a week before she went into labour. “What’s Spider-Man up to these days?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tony had been a little taken aback by the question. “Oh, you know,” he’d said vaguely, “Thwarting pickpockets and helping grannies cross the street, I assume. What are you worrying about Spider-Man for, anyways?” He’d gestured to her belly. “You’re gonna blow any minute now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Thanks for that,” Pepper had said drily. “Very flattering. I was just wondering. He seems like a sweet boy.”</em>
</p><p>Peter Parker <em>is</em> sweet. Ever-helpful, like a little labrador retriever, always scampering back and forth bringing Tony tools and parts and interesting things he’s found lying around the ship. The kid is funny, too. His sense of humour is often earnest and ridiculous, but he also has a flair for sarcasm and an unexpected talent for delivering deadpan lines that make Tony double-take before realizing he’s joking. And of course Peter is smart - brilliant, in fact - but Tony had known that the moment he’d set eyes on those insane webs the kid had manufactured in his high school chemistry lab.</p><p>Ten days go by before the ship starts to fail. Tony and Peter try their best to keep her afloat, but Tony knows that it’s just a matter of time. They’re out of repair materials and neither of them have any experience with the alien technology.</p><p>He knows that Peter knows too. They studiously avoid talking about it. They pass time instead shooting the shit about movies and science and other meaningless minutiae. The kid doesn’t ask about Pepper and Morgan, and Tony doesn’t ask about the kid’s aunt. It’s as if they’re living in Schrödinger’s paradox; but they’re the ones in the box, and everyone else is outside, both dead and alive until the lid is lifted and the realities collapse into one another.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After two weeks the food packets run out. </p><p>Disgusting though they had been, filled with an unremarkable nutrient-packed jelly, Tony and Peter make an occasion out of splitting the last one. They sit at the table properly and Tony gets a laugh out of Peter by insisting they hold hands and say grace - “Thank you Xenu for your eternal intergalactic benevolence, because clearly God has abandoned us, amen” - and they take turns slurping out of the packet, commenting on its nonexistent flavour as if they’re critiquing a priceless bottle of merlot.</p><p>“Nah, Mr. Stark,” Peter says as Tony offers him the last swig. “I don’t need it.”</p><p>“Shut up, you’re going to stunt your growth. You want to be five-seven forever?”</p><p>“Mr. <em>Stark!</em> I’m five-eight.”</p><p>“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, kid.”</p><p>After the last packet goes Peter takes a sharp downhill turn. The kid predictably tries to keep a good face on things but Tony figures it out, far too late.</p><p>“You good, kid?” he asks one day, more making conversation than anything, taking in the kid’s skeletal form and sluggish movements. Of course the kid’s not good. He’s not good either. They have days at most before the Benatar is dead in the water, they’re out of food, they have no idea where in the universe they are.</p><p>“Yep,” Peter says, and then his eyes roll backward into his head and he drops like a rock.</p><p>The kid wakes up a few hours later. Barely. Tony doesn’t even try to pretend he hasn’t been sitting by the cot he's carried Peter to the entire time, boring holes into the kid’s face with his gaze. He immediately grabs Peter’s shoulders and shakes him. </p><p>“Hey,” he says, his tone equal parts furious and panicked, “<em>hey.</em> Welcome back. Want to explain why you’ve been lying to me for weeks? ”</p><p>“What?” Peter croaks, licking his parched lips.</p><p>“Yeah, no, try again,” Tony says acidly. “I know I’m partly to blame here. I know that people with the strength to throw cars generally have the metabolism to match. But the thing is, you know that too, Pete - yet you failed to call it to my attention.” </p><p>“Um,” Peter mumbles. His eyes drift around like he’s having trouble focusing.</p><p>“And here I’ve been eating half the rations like a complete fucking <em>jackass</em> while you’re over there, I don’t know, starving to death - fuck, how did I not-”</p><p>“You’ve been distracted,” the kid supplies helpfully, his voice slurring. His eyes start to flutter closed.</p><p>“No, you don’t get a pass on this conversation,” Tony says, shaking the kid again. “Rise and shine. Walk me through this, kid. Help me understand exactly why you thought me watching you die - and leaving me alone in - in the middle of space - explain why you thought that was-” Tony knows he’s veering into incoherent panic rambling, and he can see on the kid’s face that he’s scaring him, so he snaps his mouth shut and wordlessly tightens his grip on Peter’s thin shoulder.</p><p>“You,” Peter says with considerable effort. He sighs and tries again. “You have...a baby to get back to, Mr. Stark.”</p><p>“I don’t know that,” Tony whispers. </p><p>It all hits him at once. He doesn’t know. There might be no Morgan waiting for him, no Pepper. Maybe Rhodey and Happy were taken too. Maybe he’ll watch this kid die and then come back to Earth to realize that everyone he loves is gone, or maybe he’ll die alone in space and never find out. He can’t decide which is worse.</p><p>“I do,” Peter says, weakly closing a hand around Tony's wrist. “I just...I know it. I can feel it.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says. He doesn’t want to argue with the kid, not when he’s sick and scared and light-years away from everything he’s ever known. “Okay.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Peter doesn’t get out of bed after that. Tony makes sure of it, rationalizing that if the kid limits his movement then maybe, just maybe his metabolism will take a little bit longer to cannibalize him from the inside. When Tony diverts power from the heating system to give them a few more days of oxygen, he piles every scrap of cloth he can find onto Peter’s still form in a futile attempt to keep him warm. It doesn’t matter. The kid’s lips go blue within hours, and when he does manage to speak his tongue is stiff and clumsy.</p><p>On the twentieth day Peter cuts Tony off mid-sentence as he rambles mindlessly about this and that, trying to hold the kid’s waning attention.</p><p>“Mr. Stark?”</p><p>Tony feels that same horrible icy sensation crawling up his legs and back, coalescing into a pit in his empty stomach. <em>Please,</em> he begs the universe, one last time. <em>Not him.</em></p><p>“Yeah, kid?” he manages.</p><p>Peter’s breaths are slow and shallow. With great effort he pushes a hand out from under the ridiculous amount of blankets Tony has piled on him. His fingers flutter weakly.</p><p>“What is it?” Tony prompts. His heart is in his throat as he watches Peter’s lips struggle to form words.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” the kid sighs, as his eyes close.</p><p>Peter doesn’t wake up again. Over the next eight hours his breaths grow more laboured and come farther apart. Tony’s mind is racing everywhere and nowhere, he can’t follow a thought through to its end, all he can do is pour every ounce of his energy into staring at the impossibly small rise and fall of Peter’s chest - like if he looks away for just a second the movement will stop. At some point he notices Peter’s hand, still and pale, and thinks about how his fingers had twitched in that last moment of lucidity.</p><p><em>Oh,</em> he realizes with a sharp twinge, <em>the kid wanted me to hold his hand.</em></p><p>He knows Peter probably can’t feel it, that it’s too late, but he takes the kid’s hand in both of his and holds on with everything he’s got. The breaths come slower and slower and finally - just as rays of a nearby star filter in, bathing the ship’s cabin in a golden haze - the last one arrives. Deeper than the others, with a long rattling exhale.</p><p>On the twenty-first day, Peter Parker drifts peacefully into the waiting arms of death. </p><p>Tony uses the last of his strength to carry the kid’s body towards the front of the cabin. Peter doesn’t look any different. Just like he’s sleeping. Tony props him up facing out towards the stars, the swirling clouds of gas and spinning galaxies. It feels somehow kinder than leaving him alone in his cot. </p><p>He records a last message for Pepper. “It’s always you,” he whispers, before settling himself next to Peter once more and taking the cold stiff hand in his. He leans his head against the dead child’s matted curls and allows himself to pretend for just a moment that Peter really is sleeping.</p><p>Tony Stark finally lets himself rest. </p><p>He wakes up an indeterminate amount of time later face to face with a woman who glows like the sun.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tony doesn’t bother explaining the dead teenager to Carol Danvers. He doesn’t need to. They’re drifting on a crippled ship, nearly out of oxygen and with no rations to speak of. Their gaunt frames speak for themselves. Her mouth twists sharply as she registers Peter’s ashen complexion and awkwardly sprawled limbs, but she doesn’t ask. When the Benatar lands on Earth and Tony staggers towards the descending ramp, she gathers Peter gently into her arms and cradles him close for just a moment before following. </p><p>It’s only when Steve sprints up to meet him that he can acknowledge it.</p><p>“I,” he gasps, gripping the front of Steve’s shirt. “I lost the kid.”</p><p>Steve looks past him for a moment, at Danvers and her cargo that she’s still handling with an odd tenderness. His chest jerks in a sharp little exhale, and he gathers Tony into his arms.</p><p>“Tony, <em>we</em> lost-”</p><p>“Is,” Tony stammers, “is Pepper-”</p><p>A wail echoes from behind Steve, and it’s the sweetest sound he thinks he’s ever heard in his life. She’s alive. <em>Morgan.</em> She’s here. Tony rips himself out of Steve’s arms and pushes past him. </p><p>His daughter is there, but it’s not Pepper holding her. It’s Rhodes.</p><p>They lock eyes. Rhodes is crying, has been perhaps since Tony stumbled off the ship. A tiny fist bursts free of its swaddling and waves towards Rhodes’ face as the baby’s cries grow ever louder.</p><p>Tony wants nothing more than to go to his daughter, but his body won’t cooperate. It’s too much. It’s <em>too much.</em> Danvers stands behind him holding the corpse of a sixteen-year-old boy, and Pepper has drifted away into ash. Alone. Tony wasn’t there when she went. He wasn’t <em>there.</em></p><p>He screams and falls heavily to his knees, gripping his hair so hard that a chunk tears right out of his scalp. Morgan’s shrieks escalate in pitch to match, and he can’t stop screaming, and he wants to go to his daughter but he <em>can’t</em> -</p><p>“Tony, Tony,” someone is saying, and there are hands on his back and he wants them off-</p><p>Finally the hammering of his heart reaches a fever pitch in his chest and he floats away again into merciful darkness.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tony wakes up in the compound’s medbay. The immaculate white ceiling is so familiar that for a moment is brain is disoriented and wonders what mission he’s been injured on. Then he catches sight of his emaciated arm hooked up to an IV, and everything comes flooding back. </p><p>“Tones,” a familiar voice says, bringing him to back into the present before he can spiral out. “Tones, I’m right here.”</p><p>Rhodes reaches out with one hand to cup Tony’s face. In his other arm Morgan rests, sleeping peacefully.</p><p>“Oh, Rhodey,” Tony says, tears gathering in his eyes. “I want - I want-”</p><p>“I know,” Rhodes soothes. “You want your baby girl. Come on, I’ll help you sit up, and you can hold her.” Together they maneuver Tony into a sitting position, and Rhodes places the tiny infant in his arms.</p><p>Morgan’s warm, feather-light weight somehow throws Tony’s mind into sharp clarity. She’s bigger now, so much bigger, with more hair. Her newborn redness has faded into a soft milky complexion with fat, rosy little cheeks and pearly parted lips. </p><p>“Morgan,” Tony whispers. She fusses a little bit as she wakes up and registers that she’s in a different set of arms, but then her huge brown eyes open all the way and she looks directly into Tony’s eyes for the very first time. Morgan holds his gaze for just a moment, then hiccups unceremoniously and drifts back into slumber.</p><p>Tony’s eyes fill with tears and he looks up at Rhodes. Rhodes gives him a watery smile. “See? She knows her daddy.”</p><p>“Was, um,” Tony stumbles over the words. “Was she alone when Pepper-”</p><p>“No,” Rhodes cuts in softly. “I went to stay with them the day after you...I didn’t want them to be alone. I was holding her. Pep was napping on the couch. It was...it was peaceful.”</p><p>“Thank God,” Tony breathes, feeling unworthy of the small mercies the universe had seen fit to bestow on him. “Thank you. Thank you for being there. I’m glad it was you.”</p><p>They sit in silence for a long moment, communicating through silence what they can’t put into words.</p><p>“So, uh...what’s next, Rhodey? What do we do now?” Tony pauses, takes a deep breath. “Do we try and find Thanos?”</p><p>“Oh, Tones,” Rhodey says. His face falls. “They did.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’ve been out for a week,” Rhodey starts, but Tony cuts him off.</p><p>“No, no,” he gasps, cradling Morgan closer. “I’ve...” The tears finally spill over. One lands directly on Morgan’s forehead. “I can’t miss any more of her life,” he says desperately. “She’s five weeks old, Rhodey, I’ve only been there for one of them-”</p><p>“Okay, okay.” Rhodes grips his shoulder, kneading the withered muscle there with gentle fingers. “Tones, you have to breathe. Morgan’s okay. You can be there for every week for the rest of her life, if you want. Or until she turns eighteen and betrays you by going to Caltech and you write her out of your will.”</p><p>Tony laughs, caught off guard. “If she went to Caltech I’d go with her and sign up for an adjunct professor position or something. I’d renounce MIT. You hear me? My baby can do no wrong.” He presses a kiss to Morgan’s forehead. “Fuck. Look. She’s so cute. You’d tarnish MIT’s good name for your niece, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>“You got me. I would.” Rhodes beams down at the little pink face, touches the tip of her nose with a finger. </p><p>“So,” Tony says, feeling marginally more collected. “Thanos.”</p><p>“They, uh...” Rhodes furrows his brow. “They killed him, Tones. He’s dead. The gauntlet was in ruins, couldn’t be used again.”</p><p>Tony somehow doesn’t feel surprised in the slightest, as much as a tiny wild part of him had fostered a hope that this was somehow reversible. His only reaction is a resigned exhale. “What was the point in killing him, then?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Rhodes says, raising an eyebrow. “Thor did it. Execution-style. You’d have to ask him.”</p><p>“I don’t care,” Tony mutters. </p><p>“There’s something else we have to talk about.”</p><p>Tony’s head jerks up from where it’s bent over his daughter. Rhodes is leaning forward, elbows on his knees, face inscrutable.</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says warily. </p><p>“The kid.”</p><p>“What about him?” Tony snaps. “He’s dead and it’s my fault. What, does that scary aunt of his want to come and give me hell for it? Bring it on, I deserve-”</p><p>“Tony. Shut the fuck up.” Rhodes’ tone is mild. “He’s not dead. We don’t think so, anyways.”</p><p>“No, <em>you</em> shut the fuck up,” Tony spits. “What do you mean, you don’t <em>think so?</em> I watched him die. Held his hand, witnessed his last breath. Are you fucking with me right now?”</p><p>His sudden increase in volume wakes Morgan, who lets out a reproachful little cry. “Oh, baby, sh, shh,” Tony murmurs, bouncing her in his arms. “Go back to sleep, sweetpea. It’s alright. Uncle Rhodey’s just been hitting the acid a little too hard lately-”</p><p>“Listen to me, Anthony,” Rhodes says. His commanding voice and rare use of Tony’s full name stops him in his tracks. Tony shuts his mouth and raises an eyebrow, inviting Rhodes to continue.</p><p>“We had him laid out on a bed in the medbay. Just felt fucked up to put him anywhere else. We’re not exactly equipped with a morgue here. Anyways, Danvers and Steve went to go...see him, I guess? I don’t know. Pay their respects. And Steve goes to take his hand and the kid’s finger twitches. So they hustle and get Helen down to look at him, and they hook him up to all these monitors and it turns out...well, it’s complicated. His heart’s still beating, Tones, but only <em>once every three minutes.</em> It’s insane. He’s only breathing every few minutes too, and his brain isn’t really showing any signs of activity, but the heart just keeps on pumping. Helen has a theory.”</p><p>As Rhodes speaks, Tony feels something hot and sharp welling up in his chest. It’s not relief, and it’s not hope exactly, but it’s something acute and alive. “And that theory would be?”</p><p>“Diapause,” Rhodes says. “Some spiders do this thing...it’s sort of like hibernation, slowing down all nonessential functions. Except unlike hibernation it’s not seasonal, it’s triggered by lack of nutrients and low temperatures. She also drew some blood and found high concentrations of glycerol-”</p><p>“Glycerol? What the <em>fuck?</em> ”</p><p>“Yeah. It’s freaky as hell, man. I guess it’s like a natural antifreeze, it’s been keeping his organs from failing.”</p><p>“Holy shit.” Tony takes a ragged breath. “Holy <em>shit.</em> On the ship, he...he didn’t tell me he needed extra rations, and I didn’t clue in. And in the last few days I diverted most of the ship’s power to the oxygen systems, the heating was the first thing to go-”</p><p>“You might have saved that kid’s life.”</p><p>“Not intentionally. Are we sure he’s going to...well, you know, wake up?”</p><p>“No,” Rhodes says frankly. “No one has any experience with part-human, part-spider biology. Helen thinks that if we keep him really warm and keep getting him nutrients by IV, then...maybe.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says shakily. “Okay. So has anyone told his aunt?”</p><p>“Gone,” Rhodes says. “We tried to track her down. Her coworkers saw her get, well, you know.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Tony mutters, pressing another absent kiss to Morgan’s cheek. “Then if he does wake up...”</p><p>“They’ve got a system,” Rhodes explains gently. “For kids left without guardians. There are some facilities set up - the kids are staying there, being looked after by what’s left of social services and assorted volunteers - and then when things are a bit more stable they’ll see about finding placements for them. Starting with the younger ones.”</p><p>Tony’s stomach churns. Peter is sixteen. He could age out entirely before things are 'more stable.'</p><p>Seeing the look on Tony’s face, Rhodes grips Tony’s shoulder again. “We’re exploring all the options we can for him, Tones. He’s old enough that he could maybe...we don’t know. Steve offered to put him up for a while, thought it might be best if he’s around other enhanced people.” </p><p>“He’s got to wake up first,” Tony says, his thoughts far away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>As soon as Tony is able to get out of bed and walk, he starts bringing Morgan down to visit the kid. He can’t tell if she likes the rhythmic beep of the monitors, the sauna-like temperature Helen Cho keeps the room at, or maybe even the kid himself; but when she’s fussy, a little trip down to see Peter calms her right away.</p><p>“I bet you’re just sick of your daddy,” Tony chides. A fruitless hour of trying to soothe his grouchy daughter has once again resulted in total peace the moment they step into Peter’s room. He’s been spending every waking moment with Morgan, loathe to let anyone - even Rhodes - take her from him for more than the amount of time it takes to shower. She even sleeps in a little crib rolled right up next to his bed so that he can put his hand in and allow her tiny fingers to curl around his. “You’re just excited to see a different face, aren’t you? Rude. What’s wrong with mine, huh, kid? My company not enough for you anymore?”</p><p>A part of him knows that throwing himself into the care of his baby allows him to avoid thinking about Pepper. A bigger part forgives himself for that, because he can’t afford to lose his shit and leave Morgan with a shell of a father.</p><p>“No,” he muses, bouncing Morgan in his arms, “You just like how warm it is in here. There’s no way you prefer a comatose teenager to your own father.”</p><p>Morgan makes a mewling noise and waves her little fist, stretching towards Peter’s prone form.</p><p>“Stop that,” Tony chides. “You’re not helping my case here. I bet you won’t like him so much when he wakes up and starts talking. Teenagers are the worst.”</p><p>His daughter continues to insistently reach for the unconscious teenager, making frustrated baby noises that, if Tony is honest with himself, are just unbelievably fucking cute. “Fine. Jesus. You pint-sized extortionist. Let’s go see Petey.” The nickname that slips out of his mouth takes him aback, but he chalks it up to all the baby-talking he’s been doing lately. He leans over Peter and lets Morgan’s small hand smack gently against his cheek. “Hey, quit hitting him, that’s not nice. Did you want to come over here just to beat him up? Yeah, of course you did. That’s my girl.” Morgan squeals in agreement, her fist opening and closing over Peter’s nose.</p><p>“Mmph,” Peter groans.</p><p>“Oh, see, he doesn’t like that. I told you so, little miss. You can’t make friends by-” Tony stops, his eyes blowing wide. “Wait. Kid?”</p><p>“Mmrgh,” comes the garbled response.</p><p>“Fuck. You’re awake. Cho? Anyone? God damn it, is there a bell or something in here - FRIDAY-”</p><p>“Dr. Cho has been alerted and is on her way,” FRIDAY echoes from the ceiling.</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says, taking a deep breath. He’s still leaning over Peter and Morgan is still whacking Peter's face with her drool-covered fist. “Oh, shoot, sorry kid.” He shifts Morgan away, which is met with an indignant little shriek.</p><p>“S’okay,” Peter mutters.</p><p>“You just talked,” Tony says. He feels stupid. He can’t think of anything reasonable to say. He watched this kid die and here he is, <em>talking.</em></p><p>Peter’s eyes finally open, and they dart around the room, finally coming to rest on Tony. They stare at each other for a moment.</p><p>“So, uh,” Tony manages. There’s a long pause. “You were...you were right.” He holds Morgan towards Peter. “About Morgan.”</p><p>“Oh,” Peter says dreamily, his eyes fluttering closed again. “Awesome.”</p><p>By the time Cho gets there he’s out again, but this time they know he’ll wake up.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tony lets Steve tell the kid about his aunt. He’s shit with those difficult conversations and figures he’d just make things worse. Besides, if the kid is going to crash with Steve for a while, it makes sense to let Steve start fielding this stuff.</p><p>Tony tries to give Peter space after, he really does - figures he’s the last person the kid would want to see while grieving his aunt, because <em>boy</em> had May Parker hated Tony and made no secret of it - but a day later Morgan starts shrieking at the top of her diminutive lungs and simply cannot be consoled. Tony has fed her, changed her, sung to her, bounced her, taken her on multiple laps around the compound, put more clothes on her, taken those clothes off - no dice. He feels like the screaming is boring a hole directly through the center of his head.</p><p>“You’re so dramatic,” he says miserably. Morgan wails, kicking him enthusiastically in the chest. “You know what, I’ve been legitimately tortured, and I didn’t scream this loud. Well, maybe I did. I don’t know. God, maybe this is punishment for the hell I put your mother through trying to take care of me all these years.” That thought strays a little too close to something that will shatter the inside of his chest, so he changes the subject. “You know what I bet you’d like? A visit to Peter’s room. He’s having a hard time though, baby, so you can’t scream at him. We’re only gonna go if you promise to be quiet.” </p><p>Morgan lets out an unholy, ear-piercing yell.</p><p>“Okay, I’ll take that as a yes. Thank you for your consideration.” Tony starts towards the medbay. He feels awful doing this, he really does, and he can only hope that Morgan’s adorable face will soften the blow of the intrusion.</p><p>“Knock knock,” Tony calls. Morgan quiets down immediately as they enter the room, like magic.</p><p>Peter is sitting up in bed, staring at the facing wall. He’s so uncharacteristically quiet and still that Tony feels an irrational surge of leftover panic.</p><p>“Hey,” Tony says gently. “I’m, uh - I’m so sorry about your aunt. And I’m sorry for barging in like this. Morgan’s been crying for, god, it feels like <em>forever</em> and she really likes it in here for some reason, so I thought - ah, fuck, I’m an asshole. I’ll leave-”</p><p>“No, it’s okay,” Peter whispers, just loud enough for Tony to pick up. His face is pale but his expression is unfathomable; blank, with unseeing eyes.</p><p>Tony stands there awkwardly for a while, rocking Morgan idly, until she starts to grunt and wave her arms around. At first Tony thinks she’s working on a poop, but then he realizes she’s doing that thing from the other day - stretching towards Peter.  </p><p>“You really like him, huh?” Tony says quietly, quirking a half-smile down at Morgan. She’s started to do the frustrated baby growls again. He looks up to see Peter staring at them with the same blank expression.</p><p>“I kind of wondered what it was she liked about this room,” Tony explains hesitantly. “Like, the heat, maybe. But I’m starting to think it’s you, kid.”</p><p>A minute spark flares in Peter’s face at that, before settling back into impassivity. He watches quietly as Morgan continues to express her displeasure.</p><p>“You want to hold her?” Tony asks impulsively, taking a step forward. He regrets it immediately. Before he’d had one of his own, he’d hated people shoving babies at him, assuming that just because they thought the wrinkly little bugger was cute he would share in their opinion and want to actually touch it. Now he’d become one of Those People. Good lord.</p><p>“Um...yes, please,” Peter answers. The little spark is back, along with something that looks like shyness.</p><p>“Oh, okay,” Tony says, feeling as surprised as Peter looks. “So, uh, just put your arms like...yeah, that’s it, support her head...there you go.”</p><p>He misses Morgan’s warmth as soon as she leaves his arms, but it’s hard not to enjoy the way she coos up at Peter, reaching insistently for his nose. Her tiny legs are going a mile a minute with happy little kicks.</p><p>“Yeah, she definitely likes you,” he laughs. “Wow, look at that. The very same hellion that was trying to shatter my eardrums earlier. Unbelievable.”</p><p>“I like you too, Morgan,” Peter murmurs, staring down at her with huge eyes. “You’re really small,” he adds as an afterthought.</p><p>Tony makes himself comfortable in the chair next to Peter’s bed and contents himself watching them for a while. Peter doesn’t talk much, but he does give Morgan his finger to latch on to and he at least looks a bit less like his soul has departed the earthly plane.</p><p>“I’m sorry too,” he says after awhile. “About Ms. Potts.”</p><p>Tony’s eyes well with unbidden tears. He forces them down rapidly. Not the time. “Thanks,” he says thickly. Then, with an honestly that startles him, he adds: “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter agrees softly, blinking back tears of his own. “I know the feeling.”</p><p>“Kid.” Tony leans forward and gingerly puts a hand on Peter’s arm. “I know - I know you’ll miss her, probably forever, but you don’t have to think about what to do next. Let the adults handle that. Everyone here wants to see you taken care of. Steve-”</p><p>“We talked about it,” Peter says absently. “I said no.” His attention is fixated on Morgan, who is still having the time of her life with her new best friend.</p><p>“Wait. What? You know what the other option is, right?”</p><p>“I’m not going to a facility, either.” The kid squares his chin decisively. “I’m gonna file for emancipation. You guys don’t have to worry about me. The Avengers have enough on their plates. Once I’m settled I can - I can come help, with the rebuilding.” </p><p>Tony watches the kid, this impossibly earnest, good-hearted kid, making faces at a baby to keep her entertained even as he casually discusses filing for legal emancipation so as not to burden anyone. This kid who has absolutely no one left but who still wants to help in any way he can.</p><p>“Hm,” is all he says.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Tony,” Rhodes says, in that anguished tone that’s become so familiar over the years - the voice he’s using when he’s trying to talk Tony out of something spectacularly, mind-blowingly stupid. “Tony, just think about this for minute.”</p><p>“I’ve been thinking about it for days,” Tony says, idly poking at Morgan’s cheek because it makes her scrunch up her nose in a criminally adorable way. “Oh, that little nose is just precious, isn’t it? Look, Rhodey. Look at that nose. That’s insane.”</p><p>“Tones. Focus. Please.”</p><p>“You have my full attention, gooseberry. Air your objections with impunity and do it posthaste. I haven’t got all day.”</p><p>“Yes, you do,” Rhodes groans. “Tony. I am begging you. Please just explain your thought process to me, man. I want to understand where you’re at.”</p><p>“Well, honey bear, it’s simple. Kid needs a home. I have a home. I need another pair of hands to help take care of this baby. The kid has hands.”</p><p>“It is <em>not</em> simple. Hire a nanny, for god’s sakes, it’s not like you don’t have the money.”</p><p>“I don’t want a nanny. I want Peter. Morgan likes him.”</p><p>“Listen, the kid is sweet, I like him too. But you can’t - you can’t use an orphaned mutant teenager as your live-in babysitter-”</p><p>“Woah, woah, woah. He’s not a mutant. Mu<em>tants</em> are born with the X gene, mu<em>tates</em> acquire their mutations later in life. Tsk tsk, Xavier would have your head for that one.” Tony takes in the profoundly distressed expression on Rhodes’ face and sighs. “Look, I don’t want to use him as a live-in babysitter. I just...the kid needs someone, and I need someone. It seems like we could help each other, you know?”</p><p>“Other people can help both of you,” Rhodes says. “I can help you with Morgan. Steve can take the kid.”</p><p>“No, you can’t,” Tony argues. “You’re really going to retire and play house with me when the military needs every body it can get, especially experienced engineers? You’re saying that wouldn’t kill you inside?”</p><p>By the uncomfortable look on Rhodes’ face, Tony knows he’s hit paydirt. He keeps pushing. “The kid doesn’t want to live with Steve. Says he’s going to file for emancipation. Wouldn’t it be better for him to come with me? Steve’s going to be busy too. He doesn’t have time to really take care of a teenager, not properly, anyways.” </p><p>“And what makes you think the kid will want to live with you? What makes you think you’re qualified to parent a traumatized sixteen-year-old with super strength?”</p><p>“Well, first, I’m more qualified than Steve is. By virtue of, you know, already being an actual parent. But that’s not the point. I won’t be parenting him. Just...looking after him. And I have plenty of experience looking after self-sacrificing idiots with super strength.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay.” Rhodes rolls his eyes. “You didn’t answer my first question. What makes you think he’ll want to live with you?”</p><p>Tony raises an eyebrow. “I told you,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Morgan likes him. And he likes Morgan. Waving a cute baby in someone’s face goes a long way towards getting them to agree with you. Plus, we bonded. In space.”</p><p>“Okay!” Rhodes throws up his hands in resignation. “Okay. I give up. Whatever. Adopt Spider-Man. Jesus Christ. I’m going to drop in on you regularly, do you understand? Unscheduled visits. And if I see that you three aren’t holding it together...”</p><p>“Aw,” Tony coos to Morgan, “you better behave or Uncle Child Services is gonna take you away. Yeah, that’s right. Eat your vegetables or you and Spider-Man are gonna get thrown in child jail.”</p><p>Rhodey bangs out the door in a huff, but Tony knows he’ll come around. He always does.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“No thank you,” Peter says politely. </p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>Peter knows Tony heard him, so he ignores the question and resumes staring at the wall.</p><p>“Kid, I respect your right to have a say in what happens to you and all, but I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”</p><p>“I have.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says, not even trying to hide the skepticism in his voice. “Indulge me, then. Walk me through your plan.”</p><p>“File for emancipation, get my GED, then help with the rebuilding efforts full-time.”</p><p>“Peter.” Tony sits down in the chair next to Peter’s bed, adjusting Morgan in his arms. “That’s admirable, and stupid, and self-sacrificing and all - <em>god</em> are you sure you don’t want to take Steve up on his offer because I swear I just heard his voice come out of your mouth, you two would get along like - anyways. You’re a child. It’s not your job to take care of the world right now, it’s our job to take care of you.”</p><p>Peter turns and looks at him blankly. “With all due respect, Mr. Stark, that’s a nice idea - but it hasn’t really worked out that way for me.”</p><p>Tony knows. He’s read the kid’s files. Lost both parents at age five, lost his uncle at age fourteen, and now his aunt - his last remaining family in the entire world - at age sixteen. For a moment he’s at a loss. How do you reassure a kid who’s lost every significant adult presence in his life to date that, no, he can trust you? That you’ll be the exception?</p><p>His brain whirs frantically, searching for the right thing to say, and then it hits him. He’s not going to convince Peter by reassuring him. Peter wants, more than anything, to <em>help.</em> To be needed.</p><p>“Hold my baby for a sec,” Tony says, passing said baby over to Peter. Peter raises an eyebrow but takes her obediently. Morgan stirs momentarily, looks up at Peter with those lethal brown eyes, and lets out an implausibly adorable little gurgle. “Listen, Pete. I’m, uh...” Tony pauses, scrubs his hand wearily over his face. Unsure if he should be admitting this, even though he knows it’s his only chance at getting through to Peter. “I’m scared. I’m scared out of my mind. I never imagined having to do this without Pepper, and frankly, I have no idea how I’m going to manage it.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers. </p><p>“I know,” Tony says heavily. “But look, kid, I think we have an opportunity here. I’d really appreciate having someone else around, especially while Rhodey and all the others are so busy.”</p><p>Peter catches on to what he’s implying, and the conflict is clear as day on his face. “Mr. Stark, I don’t...I don’t know anything about babies.”</p><p>Tony chuckles. “It’s not rocket science. They eat and sleep and poop. Anyways, she likes you, so you’re already off to a good start.”</p><p>As if on cue, Morgan squeals up at Peter and breaks into her very first smile.</p><p>Peter's lips twitch, and then slowly spread into a tentative smile of his own. "Okay," he says. "Yeah. Okay."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me: "I love May and Pepper they're my favourite characters in the MCU I'm going to write whole fics just about their friendship blah blah blah"<br/>Also Me: (kills them both without a second thought)</p><p>Let me know what you think! I so appreciate every comment I get, it really makes my day. Thank you for reading! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 'Cause it's a long road ahead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peter, Tony and Morgan survive their first day in their new home, more or less.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay. So the house is a bit...lower-tech than I’m used to, but what am I talking about, you’ll be fine. I’ve seen your apartment. Sorry, kid, that wasn’t a dig. Just an observation. Anyways, FRIDAY is installed but only in the lab. We’re on our own for the rest of it. God, I haven’t had to brew my own coffee in years. Do you drink coffee? Don’t drink coffee. Caffeine is a drug, and Captain America says don’t do drugs until you’re eighteen and under the supervision of an experienced trip babysitter. Jesus kid, don’t look at me like that, I went to college in the eighties. What, you thought I was doing homework on the weekends? Point is, I’m going to have to learn to brew a good pot of coffee, and you’re going to have to learn to brew...I don’t know. What are you kids drinking these days? Free-range kale smoothies? Aren’t you the woke generation, all about fighting the man and crusading against climate change and making Vines every two minutes?”</p><p>“Vine’s gone,” Peter says, reaching over to offer Morgan a cuddly toy. She’s very unimpressed with her carseat and her little grunts are verging dangerously on a whine. “It’s TikTok now.”</p><p>“Kid,” Mr. Stark sighs. “That cannot have been your only takeaway from the last five minutes of word vomit. Do you, uh...do you have any questions? Concerns? Constructive criticism?”</p><p>In fact, Peter does have questions. Tons of them. He’s unsure about where this whole situation falls in terms of legality and whether Mr. Stark has filled out the proper paperwork. He doesn’t know if the government still has enough manpower to even <em>receive</em> said paperwork. He understands why Mr. Stark had wanted to leave New York City - he’d felt the same way, too many ghosts - but something about a grieving widower, a teenager and a two-month old baby living in a remote cabin twenty minutes from the nearest small town feels a little...foolhardy.</p><p>“Nope,” Peter says, and leans back against the window.</p><p>Another question he wants to ask, although he knows there’s no way Mr. Stark could ever answer it: <em>Do you think maybe I actually did die, out in space? Is that why I feel like I’m never actually here?</em></p><p>The world blurs by outside the car window. Peter can’t really focus on anything, but his mind dimly registers that it’s getting steadily greener. It’s soothing, or maybe unnerving, or maybe a strange mixture of both. For a kid who grew up surrounded by the dusty concrete and asphalt of Queens, the forest feels oddly close and silent; just a little too alien.</p><p>“Right,” Mr. Stark says after a long pause. “What about you, Morgan? I’m sure you have some feedback for me.”</p><p>Morgan lets out an irate shriek, wiggling in her seat.</p><p>“I see. Noted.”</p><p>By the time they pull into the gravel driveway, Morgan is wailing, Peter is exhausted and hungry, and Mr. Stark has lapsed into a tight and miserable silence, his hands gripping the wheel. Peter has given up trying to soothe the inconsolable baby. He wonders if this means he and Mr. Stark are off to a bad start already, if Mr. Stark will change his mind and turn the car around, but somehow he’s almost too tired to care.</p><p>“Home sweet home,” Mr. Stark grits out, as he puts the car in park. “You take the demon spawn, and I’ll take the groceries.”</p><p>Peter reaches over to unbuckle Morgan’s seat. Her tiny face is scrunched and red and fat tears roll into her wide-open mouth as she squalls. Suddenly Peter’s exhausted haze melts away and he just feels awful for her. She’s sad or hungry or tired or <em>something</em> and she’s trying to tell them but they just can’t understand. That’s got to suck.</p><p>Once he gets her carseat out, he notices that her arms are waving and her fists are making little grabby motions. “Aw,” he croons, “are you just lonely? Is that what’s going on?” Peter reaches down to lift her out of the carrier.</p><p>If possible Morgan screams even harder, her eyes rolling around until they come to rest on Mr. Stark.</p><p><em>Oh,</em> Peter thinks as his chest constricts, <em>she wants her dad.</em></p><p>“Um, Mr. Stark,” Peter says hesitantly. Mr. Stark turns, the pinched look on his face softening immediately when he sees Morgan.</p><p>“Oh, you just want your daddy, don’t you,” Mr. Stark says, reaching over to scoop her away from Peter. “Looks like Peter’s on grocery duty then, huh?” </p><p>Peter gathers up all the grocery bags in one go, that strange tight feeling still lingering in his chest as he follows the Starks into the picturesque wooden cabin. He feels - betrayed, maybe, even though he knows logically a baby is just not going to like him more than her own father - or like he’s already failed somehow.</p><p><em>Okay, Peter, get it together,</em> he tells himself sharply. <em>At least make yourself a little bit useful.</em> With that thought motivating him, he musters up enough energy to put all the groceries away before taking just a minute to sit down and allow himself a couple of deep breaths.</p><p>He wakes up on the couch with no idea how much time has passed. In a bleary panic he rubs at his eyes and squints out the window - the sun is setting, which means it’s been hours - and after a moment he notices that a large knit afghan has been draped over him. Somehow that makes him feel even worse.</p><p>“Back with us, sleeping beauty?”</p><p>Peter jerks upright, casting around frantically until he spots Mr. Stark sitting in an armchair in the corner with his StarkPad. “Um,” he says dumbly, then regains his wits a little. “Mr. Stark? I’m sorry.”</p><p>Mr. Stark’s expression tightens again. “Don’t - don’t apologize. Please.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, which just makes Peter’s stress levels skyrocket. He feels like he’s said something wrong already but he doesn’t know what.</p><p>“Anyways, what are you apologizing for?” Mr. Stark says, his tone snapping back to its usual sarcastic tenor. “Sleeping? Kid, this is your home. You’re allowed to sleep here.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter fumbles. “I just...I know I’m supposed to be helping, and I didn’t mean to suddenly crash like that.”</p><p>“Yeah, well,” Mr. Stark says, heaving himself out of the armchair. “If you’re really that choked about it, you can appease your conscience by changing some diapers tomorrow. For now it’s bedtime. Chop chop.”</p><p>“Bedtime?” Peter squints out the window again, and then at the charming little analog clock on the wall. “It’s like, eight.”</p><p>“I just got Morgan down, and I don’t have the energy right now to manage two separate bedtimes,” Mr. Stark says, waving his hand towards the stairs. “Your room is the first one on the right. Teenagers don’t need anything before bed, do they? Glass of warm milk? Lullaby? Ha, as if. Go...brush your teeth, or something. Allons-y.” He makes a shooing gesture, and Peter is too exhausted to argue. He trudges up the stairs, trying to ignore the pit of dread in his stomach, and collapses in a heap onto his bed. He doesn’t manage to get his teeth brushed or even change out of his jeans before he’s out again.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Morgan wakes up shrieking not two hours later. The sound sets off Peter’s senses -<em> danger, danger!</em> - before he’s even fully conscious, so he wakes up on the ceiling with every single one of his muscles tense. </p><p><em>Breathe, Spider-Man,</em> Peter orders himself. <em>It’s a</em> baby.</p><p>While he’s calming himself down, his ears pick up Mr. Stark heaving himself out of bed and staggering heavily through the hallway.</p><p>“Hey, stinker,” Peter hears him say, in a tone that’s impossibly tender. Peter drops off the ceiling, climbs back into bed, and clamps his hands over his ears to drown it out.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next time Morgan wakes up, Peter is ready for her. His senses pick up the miserable little hiccups before she can really start freaking out and he sits bolt upright in bed. It’s an improvement from the ceiling even though <em>danger, danger</em> is still pounding into his head with every heartbeat.</p><p>As quietly as he can, Peter slips into Morgan’s room and shuts the door behind him. “Hi,” he whispers shyly, standing over her crib. Morgan hiccups again and looks up at him, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.</p><p>“So, um...what’s going on? Are you hungry? Is it a poop thing? Emotional crisis?”</p><p>Morgan does the wild flailing grabby-arms thing in response. Peter frowns down at her.</p><p>“I know, you probably want your dad. But he’s...he’s gotta sleep sometime, yeah? And I have to pull my weight around here. Mr. Stark’s been really cool and all, letting me live in his nice cabin and agreeing to feed me and everything. If he knew how much pizza I can eat in one sitting he might’ve thought that one through a little more.”</p><p>Morgan hiccups, and then lets out a little sob.</p><p>“Oh no,” Peter whispers frantically, “Don’t cry. Tell me what you want. Can you like, mime it or something?”</p><p>The baby takes a deep breath, as if to let out a wail in earnest, so Peter makes a split-second decision and lifts her out of the crib. Morgan headbutts him in the shoulder. Then she lets out a little exhale and grabs an enthusiastic fistful of his t-shirt.</p><p>“Okay, okay,” Peter says, bouncing her a little like he’s seen Mr. Stark do. “So you just wanted a little attention. That’s cool. Everyone just wants a little attention sometimes. No shame. You know, the upside of super-senses is that I can tell you smell pretty clean right now, so thank God I don’t have to learn to change a diaper at...what is it, 5 am? Bro move, Morgan. Appreciated.”</p><p>She seems to have settled down a bit and is now snuggled sleepily into his shoulder, so Peter decides it’s probably fine to put her down.</p><p>It’s not. Apparently.</p><p>The second he moves to detach the little leech, she lets out the beginning of a pissed-off squawk. “Okay! Geez! Sorry!” Peter says, pulling her back into his chest and patting her back. “Cuddle time isn’t over. I understand, it was deeply uncool of me to assume.” </p><p>After ten more minutes he tries to put her down again, with the same result. Twenty minutes pass. Thirty. Eventually he figures out that if he doesn’t move too suddenly and talks to her the whole time, he can lower her into her crib. The problem is that the second he takes his hands off her it’s shriek city.</p><p>“I get it, you know,” Peter tells her eventually, lying next to her crib with one hand shoved through the bars and resting on her soft tummy. “It’s kinda dark in here, and you don’t know where you are, or where your dad is. For all you know he could be somewhere really far away. Being a baby is hard ‘cause you have...you know, no sense of time, or space, or...” he yawns and peeks in at Morgan. She’s not listening. She’s fast asleep with a tiny fist in her mouth, dark lashes fluttering over her cheeks.</p><p>Peter glances at the wood-framed clock on the wall. It’s almost seven. He might as well just get up. Carefully, with excruciating slowness, he extricates himself from the crib without Morgan even stirring in her sleep and then pads downstairs.</p><p>This is the first time he’s been even kind-of sort-of alone since...well, since before Titan. On the Benatar he was with Mr. Stark nearly every waking minute, and then he’d woken up in the compound medbay and there had always been someone sitting by his bedside - Captain Rogers, or Ms. Danvers, or Colonel Rhodes, or Mr. Stark visiting with Morgan. Sometimes even Ms. Romanoff or Dr. Banner. It had made him feel more than a little uncomfortable. He’s used to having to shrug off people who want to treat him like “poor orphan Peter Parker,” from a lifetime of experience, but it feels even more unwarranted when now literally everyone has suffered the same kind of crushing loss that he has. </p><p>Peter rummages around for a box of Rice Krispies and some milk. Dr. Banner had sent them off with about ten pages of typed instructions for Peter’s post-starvation recovery diet, but Peter figures if he can’t eat Rice Krispies then life probably isn’t worth living anyways. He chews on his breakfast while skimming the rest of the instructions, which include plenty of boring things like broth, bananas, peanut butter in moderation (who eats peanut butter in <em>moderation?</em> ), avoiding lactose (oops) and boiled vegetables (uh, <em>hell no</em>.)</p><p>After rinsing out his bowl Peter looks around for something to do. After the fiasco of yesterday he really wants to show Mr. Stark he isn’t actually a useless lump of existential dread. He kind of feels weird messing with things in the cabin without direct instruction from Mr. Stark, though, so he settles on grabbing a book off the already-stocked bookshelf - <em>What to Expect: The First Year</em>, which has an extremely photogenic baby on the front. For the first time it occurs to him that there must be baby models. Like, babies who have a career in being cute on book covers. Professional babies. That is so weird. How can a baby be farther along in its career than he is? What has he been busting ass on his GPA for when he could’ve jumpstarted his earning potential like, fifteen years ago?</p><p>“Focus, Parker,” he mutters to himself, settling down on the couch armed with the book, his school notebook, and an array of pens and highlighters. It’s too late for him to be a professional baby model, but it’s not too late to be a baby expert. An expert on babies, not a baby who is an expert. That ship also sailed fifteen years ago.</p><p>“Okay, here we go. Zero to three months. First sounds...ha, check, Morgan’s got that one downpat,” Peter says, grinning as he skims the section titles. “First smile...check. Hell yeah, she’s a prodigy. Chatting Up Baby: 5 Ways to Encourage Baby Talk...I think me and Mr. Stark have the talking thing covered...Oh, here’s a good one. Decoding your baby’s seven types of cries.”</p><p>When Mr. Stark comes down around nine-thirty, Peter is laying upside-down in the big armchair with his legs thrown over the back and the book two inches from his nose, so he doesn’t really notice until Mr. Stark clears his throat.</p><p>“Oh! Hi, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, not looking up from his paragraph. It’s a particularly detailed one on vaccine schedules and he doesn’t want to lose track of his place.</p><p>“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark says warily, “whatcha doing there?”</p><p>“Reading,” Peter replies. He gestures to his notes. “You know, I was like highlighting and taking notes earlier, but then I realized I was basically highlighting and copying down the whole book. You know what, the people who write science textbooks could really learn a thing or two on efficiency of communication from Heidi Murkoff. This woman does not waste a single. Word. That’s probably why this book has such good ratings online, right? Makes sense that you would have the best baby book available. Hey, guess what. Babies can’t recognize themselves in the mirror yet at two months, which puts them on par with the intelligence level of like, a dog. That’s okay, though! The only animals who can recognize themselves in mirrors are like, some species of ape, dolphins, elephants and magpies. It’s perfectly normal developmentally. Want to cross-reference milestones with me? You’ve spent more time with Morgan than I have, I think you can get some of the ones I didn’t know. Does she bat at brightly coloured objects?”</p><p>“Uh,” Mr. Stark says. “Kid, you’re sounding a little manic. Why don’t you take a break and...do some normal teenager things?”</p><p>“Like what?” Peter sits up and frowns.</p><p>“I don’t know. There might be a stash of weed somewhere from last time Rhodey and I were up here. No, wait, I told you yesterday you couldn’t have drugs. Uh...go play?”</p><p>“No thanks, Mr. Stark, I’m cool.”</p><p>“No, seriously, you’re too young to be reading that kind of book. It’s creeping me out. No thinking about babies until you’re...what the hell, let’s say thirty, that’ll give you enough time to get a career established and sleep around a bit-”</p><p>“I can’t <em>not</em> think about babies, I <em>live</em> with a baby.”</p><p>“Okay,” Mr. Stark says, looking uncomfortable, “I get it, you want to understand the miniature terrorist who has us in her mighty thrall. That’s reasonable. Knowledge is power, blah blah blah. But thinking about some preachy book telling me what my kid should and shouldn’t be doing gives me hives. Why don’t we just...learn by doing?”</p><p>“Sure, sure,” Peter agrees, lying through his teeth. “Learn by doing.” He gets up and puts the book back on the shelf. He’ll get back to it later, when Mr. “Babies-Aren’t-Rocket-Science” Stark isn’t around to talk trash about the formidable Heidi Murkoff.</p><p>Mr. Stark looks visibly relieved. “Okay. Great. Hey, speaking of learning by doing - want to try feeding Morgan?”</p><p>Peter suddenly feels overwhelmed. Reading about baby feeding schedules is very different than trying not to drown a helpless baby in her own formula. Can that even happen? Maybe if he aims the bottle wrong and it goes down her windpipe? “Sounds good,” he says.</p><p>It turns out to not be that scary. Mr. Stark shows him how to use the bottle warmer, which is of course custom-made by Mr. Stark himself to always heat the formula to the perfect temperature (although neither of them can help double-checking the temperature against their wrists anyways) and how to hold the bottle at the right angle. Morgan makes unbelievably adorable noises while she’s eating, which goes an extra step in soothing Peter’s anxiety.</p><p>“Speaking of feeding,” Mr. Stark says. “You up for some breakfast, kid? What are you allowed to have, anyways?”</p><p>“I’m cool.”</p><p>“No you’re not, you’re like, the biggest nerd I’ve ever met and I hang out with Bruce Banner on the regular. Anyways, I didn’t ask if you were cool, I asked if you wanted something to eat.”</p><p>Peter shoots Mr. Stark an offended glare. “Rude. And no, I already had breakfast. Something, uh...appropriate, from Dr. Banner’s list of allowed foods.”</p><p>Peter could view it as lying to Mr. Stark twice in thirty minutes, or he could look at it as two well-intentioned omissions. After all, he does intend to learn by doing as a <em>complement</em> to meticulous research, and Rice Krispies are basically the same thing as the plain white rice on his “allowed foods” list.</p><p>“Eh, suit yourself,” Mr. Stark shrugs, and goes to the fridge to chug some milk directly from the carton. At Peter’s appalled expression, he says, “What? You’re not allowed to have milk, you’re safe from my cooties.”</p><p>“So,” Peter says, attempting to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory, “what are we doing today?”</p><p>“We?” Mr. Stark tilts his head, looking perturbed. “I don’t know, kid, I thought you were old enough to entertain yourself. Are you confused because the internet is still down in most of the state? Ah, that must be it. You’re of the generation that came out of the womb clutching smartphones. Well, in that case, I encourage you to go forth into the great outdoors and learn about the wonders of nature. Eat some bugs or something. Stay away from mushrooms, if you really want magic ones I’ll get ‘em for you, but the ones in the woods are just as likely to kill you.”</p><p>“<em>Nooo,</em>” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “I mean, don’t you need help fixing up the place or something? You said before we came that SI couldn’t really spare any staffers to come up here and check it out so you had no idea what kind of condition the pipes were in.”</p><p>“Good lord, I meant I didn’t know if we had optimal water pressure. What, did you think we were coming to live in some desolate shack in the woods with leaks in the roof? Pep-” Mr. Stark stops, takes a deep breath. “We always made sure this place was well-maintained.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says dubiously. </p><p>“Really, kid,” Mr. Stark huffs, scooping Morgan out of his arms. “You are...<em>weirdly</em> obsessed with productivity for someone your age, but I haven’t exactly had time to draw up a chore chart. I mean it, go play. Morgan and I can hold the fort for a couple hours without burning things to the ground.”</p><p>“Can you?” Peter says sullenly as he trudges out the front door. He gets the distinct sense he’s being kicked out. Maybe he’s annoying and Mr. Stark doesn’t want him underfoot, or maybe Dr. Banner ordered Mr. Stark to make sure Peter got some fresh air and Mr. Stark took it way too literally. It’s hard to tell what’s going on in that man’s head at the best of times.</p><p>Peter decides after about an hour that the forest sucks. It’s creepy, and quiet, and he can’t sit down anywhere without bugs crawling up his shirt within thirty seconds. The lake sucks too. Literally. The late morning sun has brought clouds of mosquitoes and midges and various other small bitey things. Plus being alone gives him time to think, and there is absolutely nothing good to think about right now. He misses Queens desperately - the background babble, car horns honking, loud arguments on the sidewalk, vendors yelling - all of those noises that assure him constantly he’s not alone, he’s surrounded by countless other lives just as complex and interesting and frustrating as his. It makes his issues seem less insurmountable somehow. Even though most of the people he can hear as Queens probably aren’t hiding secret identities and fighting thugs in alleyways every night.</p><p>Here, though, the stillness is inescapable and echoing. There are sounds here, but they’re empty sounds. Bugs, birds chirping, water rippling, leaves swaying. All reminders that there’s nothing human for miles, that this place belongs to something other than humans and he and Morgan and Mr. Stark are just intruders. </p><p>The worst thing is probably the sky stretching clear and empty above him. Peter knows that when nighttime comes he’ll be able to see stars, unlike at home. He wishes more than anything for the obscuring incandescent haze of New York City, the comfortable blanket of human companionship.</p><p><em>Then again,</em> he thinks, kicking at the water with his sneaker, <em>I guess there’s not that much humanity in New York City anymore either.</em></p><p>Peter tries not to think about May. He knows from long experience that it’s not going to help. It’s not like surrendering to your grief makes the person come back. You give in and you cry until your chest feels like it’s splitting and your throat is hoarse and they’re still gone. Or worse, someone finds you crying like that and now you’ve piled your grief onto theirs and it multiplies exponentially, just sadness folding into sadness that was too heavy then and is even heavier now with the guilt added on.</p><p>And this is - this is so similar to losing Ben but so, so different. Losing Ben meant that the world didn’t make sense anymore because it was just so profoundly fucked up that the sun could go on shining and the news could keep playing every morning. Like Peter and May’s lives had been shaken to their core by a cataclysm so profound that it should have shut everything else down, too, but it didn’t. And Peter and May had to make sense of how to keep on moving in a world that wouldn’t slow down and wait for them.</p><p>Losing May meant that the world didn’t make sense anymore because in this case Peter’s cataclysm <em>had</em> been everyone’s cataclysm. Everything else did shut down. Peter didn’t have to watch the world move on without May and he didn’t have to keep moving because no one else was, either. The other side was, of course, that thinking about May inevitably meant thinking about the billions and trillions of other losses that accompanied hers, and all of it was just too much grief for Peter to even fathom, so. He didn’t even try. He couldn’t go down that road that started with May and ended with half of all life in the universe.</p><p>Instead of thinking about May, Peter decides to try that rock-stacking thing he’d seen people on Instagram doing long ago. Those little cairns that worked by manipulating opposing forces. Always perfectly balanced.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>When he returns to the cabin and quietly lets himself in the front door, Mr. Stark is holding Morgan on the couch and they’re both crying.</p><p>Peter feels his stomach drop and steps back, fully intending to slip back out the door and pretend he hadn’t seen, when Mr. Stark looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes.</p><p>“She won’t stop crying,” Mr. Stark says hoarsely. “Tried everything. I don’t know what she <em>wants.</em>”</p><p>“Fresh air?” Peter offers helplessly, holding his arms out.</p><p>Mr. Stark silently gets up, hands the baby to Peter, and turns to walk towards the basement stairs. He pauses at the top. “Her coat’s hanging up in the closet. Baby sling’s in there too.” Then he starts taking the stairs two at a time, and vanishes from sight.</p><p>“Hi, Morgan,” Peter says in as cheerful a voice he can manage, as if she’s not screaming at a borderline-unbearable volume. “Let’s go on a nature walk. Nature’s kind of overrated, but hey, you might like it. Who knows. Maybe you’re secretly the forest hermit type.” He wrestles her into her coat, which is pale pink with a hood and <em>little teddy bear ears,</em> holy <em>shit</em> is that cute or <em>what</em>, and then stares at the complicated-looking baby sling in trepidation.</p><p>“You know what? I have super-strength. We don’t need a sling, do we? Promise not to try any escape maneuvers?”</p><p>Morgan screams for another twenty minutes as they walk around the lake. It makes Peter sort of nervous, the way her yells echo out across the water. Probably anything in a two-mile radius can hear them. Back in the city the shrieking would’ve just blended in with all the other sounds, but here it sticks out like a sore thumb. Eventually she cries herself out, not seeming particularly soothed. It’s more like she’s just too tired to keep wailing and subsides into miserable little sobs and hiccups instead.</p><p>Peter has been talking to her the whole time, more for lack of anything else to do. “Aw, there you go,” he says. “See, nature isn’t so bad, is it?” Morgan thumps her head against his collarbone. “What’s that headbutting thing all about? It didn’t say anything about that in What to Expect: The First Year. I wish the internet was back so I could Google why you’re always headbutting me. Is it a sign of aggression, like a rhino, or is it an affectionate thing like with cats? I’m gonna choose to believe it’s affectionate, and you can’t tell me any different until you learn to talk. Ha ha, sucks to be you.”</p><p>He goes quiet for a moment, thinking as he idly bounces her in his arms. </p><p>“You think it’s okay to go back now?” Peter asks Morgan quietly. She looks up at him, looking almost like she’s listening. “I don’t want to bother Mr. Stark, but I also don’t want him to worry about you. Tell you what. Let’s go back and I’ll put you down for a nap and then I’ll just...give him some space. Sound good?”</p><p>Morgan spits up all over the front of his t-shirt.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a yes.”</p><p>When Peter opens the door again, he doesn’t see Mr. Stark. He supposes Mr. Stark is still in the basement, where he has sort of a scaled-down version of his lab at the compound. That suits him just fine - he’s really dreading whatever awkward conversation is sure to follow. Peter’s not sure if he came back to the cabin when he wasn’t supposed to and busted in on Mr. Stark in a private moment, or if he didn’t come back soon enough and left him with a miserable baby for hours on end, which could drive anyone to tears. Either way it feels like he’s probably in trouble.</p><p>Morgan goes down for her nap with only minimal fussing, and Peter decides to spend some time quietly studying. He sneaks down to grab his textbooks (and What to Expect) then passes a quiet afternoon reading in Morgan’s room so that he can keep an eye on her. Somehow the combination of lazy afternoon sun filtering through the window and Morgan’s steady breaths and sweet little sleep noises unwind a knot in his chest that he hadn’t even known was there, and before he knows it he’s curling up on the floor - just to watch Morgan for a minute.</p><p>“Kid, what did I say about the parenting books?”</p><p>Peter startles awake, hurtling into a sitting position and blinking rapidly. “Uh...” he focuses in on Mr. Stark, who is lifting a wide-awake (but not crying) Morgan out of her crib. “I was doing my physics homework,” Peter defends sleepily. “That book was just for...resting my brain every now and then.”</p><p>“Dear God,” Mr. Stark says, shifting Morgan to one arm and putting a hand over his heart. “You are <em>killing</em> me here. We have other books. Sci-fi, fantasy, pulp romance if that’s your thing - please read them, I am begging you.” He turns to leave the room and then looks back over his shoulder. “I, uh, made dinner. If you want it. Or you can eat it later. It’s up to you.” Then he saunters down the steps.</p><p>Peter wonders what that means. Is he supposed to go down and eat now, or was Mr. Stark offering just to be nice? Maybe he still needs space and would prefer they eat separately? Peter’s stomach growls, which answers the question for him. Damn it, being out in nature is hungry work. He follows Mr. Stark down the stairs and takes a cautious seat at the table.</p><p>Mr. Stark has made them chicken noodle soup with a side of plain rice, sliced bananas with a tablespoon of peanut butter on the side, saltine crackers, and smoothies. It looks like he’s portioned everything out meticulously and there are exactly-measured tupperwares of leftovers lining the counter.</p><p>“There’s, uh, not much chicken in the soup,” Mr. Stark says brusquely, gesturing to their bowls. “Because you’re not supposed to have too much protein right now, at least not until next week. The smoothie’s made with almond milk and blueberries and stuff. I didn’t know what fruit you liked so I just put in fruit that I like. If you hate it you can tell me, I won’t be offended. I’ve heard far worse. Mostly from women. Well, occasionally men, I don’t really discriminate-”</p><p>“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter cuts in, partly because he <em>really</em> doesn’t want to hear about Mr. Stark misadventures with women and occasionally men, but also partly because he’s genuinely touched. “This is really nice. You know, you don’t have to eat the same boring stuff as me to make me feel better or anything.”</p><p>“As if,” Mr. Stark sniffs. “Can’t be assed to make two separate meals, that’s all. Now eat. <em>Mangia.</em> But not too fast or you’ll explode. Or something. I don’t know, I got bored eight pages into Bruce’s diet plan.”</p><p>They eat mostly in silence, with Morgan burbling happily on her play mat nearby. Peter glances over occasionally and notices that she does in fact bat at the brightly-coloured mobile. <em>Check.</em></p><p>As they’re rinsing their dishes, Mr. Stark clears his throat. Peter’s chest tightens. <em>Here it comes.</em></p><p>“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark,” he blurts, heading him off at the pass.</p><p>“<em>Stop apologizing,</em>” Mr. Stark snaps. </p><p>Peter hopes his face isn’t as flabbergasted and devastated as he feels, but he suspects it is by the way Mr. Stark’s face falls. “Oh, god, how am I fucking this up already,” Mr. Stark says, dropping his dishcloth and turning his back to Peter. He grips the countertop so tightly Peter can see his knuckles start to go white. He takes one deep breath, then two, as Peter stands there not breathing at all.</p><p>“Just...just don’t apologize. Listen for a minute,” Mr. Stark says, without turning around. “I’m the adult here and I’m the one who’s supposed to keep it together. You shouldn’t have had to see what you saw earlier, and I shouldn’t have dumped the baby on you because I couldn’t get my shit straight.”</p><p>“I didn’t mind,” Peter says quietly.</p><p>“I know,” Mr. Stark sighs, “because you’re a good kid. You’re a really nice kid and I’m a shitty mess of an adult. But I want you to understand that I’m trying to be less of a shitty mess.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter whispers.</p><p>“Okay,” Mr. Stark says, turning back around and awkwardly punching him in the shoulder. “Good talk. Now go change into some pajamas, for God’s sake, you’ve been wearing those jeans since yesterday morning. You can’t get away with that when you’re fifteen and your body odour is at peak offensiveness. You did bring pajamas, didn’t you? Do you need to borrow some? Go shower too while you’re at it.”</p><p>“Yessir.” Peter smiles, trying to communicate that everything’s fine between them. Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow and makes a shooing motion with his hand.</p><p>“We survived a whole day, didn’t we, pumpkin,” Peter hears Mr. Stark saying to Morgan, as he closes the bathroom door and starts the shower running. “And it was only a tiny bit of a fucking disaster. Score for the Stark family.”</p><p>A pause, and then, “If your first word is ‘fuck’ we’re blaming it on Peter.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wow damn I can't believe how much y'all loved this! Thank you for all the sweet comments and kudos and bookmarks. I'm normally much better at responding to comments but I felt like if I just focused I could get the chapter done faster - hope you guys don't mind!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. If you mistake it, just try again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After melting down spectacularly on the first day and probably traumatizing both minors in his care for life, Tony manages to pick himself up and get into the groove of things. It’s simple enough at first. Morgan sleeps mostly through the night. Peter sort of manages himself, eating the appropriate amounts at the appropriate times and spending his free time studying and disappearing out into the woods to do God knows what. Tony’s not big on research or parenting books (like Peter apparently is) - more of an ‘instinct’ guy - but his instincts tell him that this is fine because kids need to go outdoors every now and again. Every time Peter comes back in after a few hours looking like he’s at the very least soaked up some Vitamin D, Tony puts a mental check in his ‘care and feeding of legal dependents’ list.</p><p>Tony is endlessly grateful that Morgan is a good sleeper and he’s also not. The thing is, he knows he needs rest, knows he’s better able to care for his daughter in the daytime when he’s had a decent sleep. But sleep comes with moments of silence, and emptiness, and the occasional dream that he wakes up from drenched in sweat and feeling like his heart is going to hammer directly out of his chest.</p><p>He can’t think about her. Thinking about her means thinking about how alone he is. How alone he and Morgan are. How lonely the entire world, the entire universe is right now, and how that all comes down to him and his decisions.</p><p>So he doesn’t. He passes the time before he falls asleep by running equations in his head. Ruminating on things (Howard - Yinsen - <em>Steve</em>) that are painful, but an old, familiar kind of pain that’s well-worn in his mind and has just enough of an edge to distract him from the gaping, endless chasm she’s left in her wake.</p><p>After a few weeks Tony starts to feel the familiar itch to build. It surprises him at first. The reason he’d hauled them all out here, to the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, was so that he could avoid building. Wouldn’t have to look at the suits, standing sentinel all in a row with cold judgment inherent in their faceplates. He’d designed them that way, after all; narrowed eyes and immovable features to look with condemnation on those who were found wanting. </p><p>And yet, and yet. He’s Tony Stark. He looks at things and sees the infinite ways they could be better. That’s his nature. And cleaning eavestroughs feels safer than working with metal and wires, so: what the hell.</p><p>“Hey kid,” he calls over his shoulder one day as he opens the front door. “I’m inspecting the roof today. Just want to see how the metal’s holding up. You want to-”</p><p>“Do you need help?” Peter bursts out, jumping to his feet from where he’d been sitting on the floor in one disturbingly acrobatic motion. “You wouldn’t even need a ladder. I’m sticky.”</p><p>“I’m aware,” Tony says. “God, am I ever aware. I still need a ladder, because like hell are we re-enacting the Spider Monkey scene from Twilight. There’s one out in the shed. Go find it.”</p><p>Peter starts a mad dash towards the back door then skids to a stop. “Um - Morgan-”</p><p>“If she wakes up we can bring her out in her carseat to watch the shitshow and hope she isn’t permanently scarred by watching us both plummet to our deaths. Come on, kid, I’m getting older by the second here.”</p><p>“Yeah, I can tell just by looking,” Peter grumbles as he ducks out the door.</p><p>Tony grins. It’s only been a month and the kid is sassing him. That must mean they’re making some headway, right? Tony has <em>got</em> this guardian shit.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“So what do you think, kid? Should we keep the metal or switch to shingles?” Tony casts a critical eye over the gables. </p><p>Unlike so many people in his life, the kid doesn’t question why Tony has inspected something, found it in perfect working order, then immediately suggested an upgrade. Instead he tilts his head to match Tony’s. “Huh. Honestly, I don’t know a lot about roofing. What are the pros and cons?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I’d imagine metal roofing is more durable long-term, and possibly more energy-efficient, I guess.”</p><p>“Probably more cost-effective over time too, huh?”</p><p>“Why the hell would I care about cost-effective?”</p><p>“Point taken. Hey, you think we should put in solar panels?”</p><p>“Hell yeah we should.”</p><p>Even as he feels a little thrill at the possibilities, Tony wonders if it’s dangerous to have him and the kid together out in the middle of nowhere with no one to restrain their wilder impulses.</p><p>Oh well, that’s a problem for Future Tony. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>So things are going reasonably well, puttering along even, and then one night Tony wakes up at 3 a.m. to the sound of his infant daughter crying and enters her room, and Peter is in there crying too. He’s wound up into a little ball on the floor. Morgan is on her changing table with one leg in her onesie and her diaper on backwards. There is baby powder <em>everywhere.</em> It’s a crime scene.</p><p>“Uh,” Tony says, because he doesn’t even know where to start with this one.</p><p>Peter doesn’t react. He just keeps sobbing into his knees. Tony’s heart speeds up as his eyes ping-pong between the screaming baby and the emotionally compromised teenager as he tries to decide where to go first. He swears his chest is getting tighter. Is this a heart attack? No, probably not, because it hadn’t been the last three times he’d thought so. Focus. Distressed children. Oh God.</p><p>Tony goes to Morgan first because she’s a baby and is therefore more straightforward. Get her diaper on straight, wrestle her back into her onesie, make soothing noises. Once her screams die down to pathetic little sobs, he finally turns to where Peter is still curled up on the floor.</p><p>“So, kid, want to...walk me through what’s going on here?” Tony nudges Peter with his toe. Peter doesn’t stop crying, so he decides on another strategy and crouches down, Morgan in tow. </p><p>“What - what are you doing,” Peter hiccups.</p><p>Tony stops patting him awkwardly on the shoulder and frowns. “It works on the baby.”</p><p>“Just-” Peter snaps, pushing himself up into a sitting position and digging his fists furiously into his eyes, “It’s fine. I’m going back to bed. It’s fine.”</p><p>“Woah there,” Tony says, keeping a restraining hand on him while trying to balance a wiggly baby in the other. “I know I’m old and sad and don’t understand the problems of today’s youth, but would you just - give it a go.”</p><p>“I,” Peter sniffles. “I <em>know</em> how to change a diaper.”</p><p>“I know you know. I made sure of it myself on our second day here.”</p><p>“I just got all, I got all mixed up somehow,” Peter explains, gesturing helplessly. His voice is wobbling dangerously again. “I couldn’t figure it out - I’m just so <em>tired,</em> Mr. Stark, and then she kicked - she kicked the baby powder and now it’s <em>everywhere</em> -”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says in what he imagines is a soothing voice, “it’s powder, we can vacuum it up-”</p><p>“Please forget this ever happened,” Peter says, then gets up and heads to his room without another word, closing the door firmly behind him.</p><p>Tony looks at Morgan. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” </p><p>Morgan blows a spit bubble at him. </p><p>“No? Okay, you’re not a narc, I respect that.”</p><p>The next morning he comes downstairs to the smell of breakfast. Peter’s not a great cook but he’s been practicing his bacon, eggs and toast, which are pretty hard to fuck up anyways. That’s how he’d put it when Tony had asked him why he got up early to make them both breakfast every morning - practicing his cooking skills - and Tony hadn’t really given it a second thought. The kid likes having projects, he knows this.</p><p>“Why don’t you sleep in every once in a while? Isn’t that normal for someone your age, to be near-comatose until noon?” Tony asks him casually while digging into his eggs.</p><p>Peter shoots him a look that clearly says, <em>I know what you’re doing and I’m not taking the bait.</em></p><p>Tony throws his hands up. “What? I don’t know this stuff. It’s not like I can learn everything about teenagers from a handbook. What to Expect: Drugs, Sex and Rock’n’Roll edition.”</p><p>“There are parenting books on teenagers,” Peter says with only a hint of condescension in his voice, “but it’s not like you’d read them anyways.”</p><p>“Wow. Who knew the ghost of Judge Judy would live on in a skinny little nerd. Will wonders never cease.”</p><p>“Judge Judy is still alive.”</p><p>“Huh. Guess that makes sense. No one is qualified to judge Judy, so they can’t decide which afterlife to send her to.” Tony realizes the kid is distracting him, and very effectively, too. “Hey. Focus. Sleeping in? Yes/no? Do I need to sign a form authorizing it or something? I’ll sign a form. We can negotiate - you can trade in a different annoying teenager behaviour. Let’s say - you can sleep in until eleven, but you lose playing-Nintendo DS-while-I’m-trying-to-talk-to-you privileges. Sound good?”</p><p>“Nah, I’ll keep the DS privileges,” Peter says, shoving an ungodly amount of bacon into his mouth and still trying to talk around it. “I’m running out of ways to tune you out.”</p><p>“Ew. That is vile. You’re grounded from chewing with your mouth open.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says with his mouth open. It makes Tony laugh, and then Morgan wakes up, and then the day is in full swing and the previous night’s incident slips out of his mind.</p><p>For the next couple of days things carry on pretty much as normal. Peter is quiet, but Peter is always quiet, so that doesn’t read as particularly unusual. (Well, not <em>quiet</em> per se, but a far cry from the kid Tony had known before Titan.) They dick around in the lab, tinker with the solar panels as Morgan squirms busily on her play mat nearby, spend evenings reading in front of the fireplace. It’s fine. It’s not easy, Tony doesn’t think things will ever be easy the way his life has turned out so far, but it’s something.</p><p>One evening, as Tony taps away on his tablet (still no internet in this part of the state, but he has plenty of schematics to play with), he takes a moment to glance over at Peter. The kid is stretched out on the floor with Morgan, propped up in his elbow. He’s making stupid faces to get her to smile. Currently one side of his face is all twisted up and his eyes are rolling back in his head, and he’s making a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like ‘huhuhuhu.’ For some reason, that specific noise <em>always</em> makes Morgan smile. Tony would never admit it but he’s tried it a few times himself when he’s alone with the baby.</p><p>“Charming,” he remarks. “I don’t know if I should be more worried you’re making that face, or that my daughter appears to find it amusing.”</p><p>Peter turns the full force of his grotesque expression on Tony. “Huhuhu,” he cackles.</p><p>Two things happen in that moment: Tony recoils exaggeratedly and makes the sign of the cross over his chest, and Morgan laughs.</p><p>“Oh, what?” Tony gasps, clambering off the couch and scooping Morgan up from the floor. “That’s crazy. That’s so cute I’m just going to keel over and die. Wanna do it again?” He blows a raspberry on her cheek. She breaks out in another huge gummy smile and waves her arms.</p><p>“Huhuhuhu,” Peter says from his position near Tony’s elbow, and Morgan bursts into hearty baby chuckles.</p><p>“You’re kidding, right?” Tony looks from Peter to Morgan. “That’s peak comedy to you? Not your father’s legendary wit?”</p><p>Peter pulls the same stupid expression again and gets right up in Tony’s face with it. Tony can’t help it. The combination of his baby laughing and the kid mugging makes him laugh, loud and genuine, for the first time in God knows how long. Then Peter starts laughing too and flops back on the floor, tickling Morgan’s feet.</p><p>After the giggle fit winds down Tony dumps Morgan on Peter’s chest and leans back against the couch, folding his arms. “Wow. Lordy. My baby girl is <em>laughing.</em>”</p><p>“I know,” Peter agrees, letting Morgan wiggle towards his face and try to stick her hands in his mouth. “It’s like...it’s like she’s a little person, you know? Not that she wasn’t before, but she has a whole sense of humour now. A personality.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, exactly.” He laughs again, reaching out to poke Morgan in the butt. “She’s always had a personality, though. Stubborn pain in the ass, just like her dear old dad.”</p><p>“You said it, not me.”</p><p>“Fuck off, you mean kid. So tell me, Supermom, is she laughing ahead of schedule? How does she measure up to the babies in your baby bible?”</p><p>“Heidi Murkoff says babies should be laughing around three months. She’s right on time.”</p><p>“Heidi Murkoff can fuck off too. My baby is a prodigy, I don’t care what she says.”</p><p>Peter starts to reply and is cut short when Morgan finally manages to shove her fingers in his mouth. “Guh,” he chokes, prying her hands out. “Gross, Morgan. Unsanitary. Rude.” Morgan chuckles, testing out her newfound power. It works. Peter folds like a cheap suit. “Okay, okay. Wanna pull on my ears instead? I know you like that.”</p><p>“So what’s next?” Tony says, trying to act casual. “You know. In terms of milestones. Not that I care, just a scientific curiosity.”</p><p>“Four months is gonna be lit,” Peter says distractedly as Morgan smacks at his ears. “Way more baby babble - getting better at rolling over - oh yeah, and the dreaded four-month sleep regression.”</p><p>“The what?” Tony frowns. “That doesn’t sound lit.”</p><p>“No, you see, Mr. Stark, the best part is that there’s nothing to regress from. Morgan’s already a crazy sleeper. Other babies lure their parents into a false sense of security and then - bam. But it’s like we’re cheating the system.” Peter makes a raspberry noise with his mouth to distract Morgan, but she will not be deterred and is now making gumming motions towards his earlobes.</p><p>“Morgan’s not a terrible sleeper,” Tony argues. “She barely wakes up at night.”</p><p>“Right, right,” Peter says, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Um, so it’ll be a big change.”</p><p>Tony watches Peter for a moment while the gears in his brain fly. Peter’s witching-hour meltdown the other night, the kid always being up before seven, the way he’s prone to falling asleep anywhere and anytime, the dark circles under his eyes. It’s almost like he can hear an audible click in his head as it all falls into place.</p><p>Oh, for the love of God.</p><p>“Wait. Morgan has been waking up in the night, hasn’t she. And you’re just - what-” Tony pinches the bridge of his nose between his forefingers and leans back, letting his head tip backwards onto the couch cushion. “You’re beating me to the punch? What the <em>hell,</em> Peter? What is this? Do you not think I’m capable of handling my baby?”</p><p>Peter sits up and rests Morgan against his shoulder so she can gum on his ears and hair. His eyes are wide and horrified. “No - no no no <em>no,</em> Mr. Stark, it’s not like that-”</p><p>“Then what is it like, Peter? Please enlighten me.” Tony leans forward again, crossing his arms and fixing Peter with a glare.</p><p>“I, uh, well, um, oh fuck,” Peter blathers nonsensically. “I didn’t mean to...It’s just...so did you know one of the freaky things I can do is sense danger?”</p><p>“What? ”</p><p>“Um, when the, the spider bit me. One of the powers I got was like this, super amped-up danger sense. It’s like a prickle on the back of my neck and all my hairs stand up on end when something’s about to happen.”</p><p>Okay, Tony hadn’t known that, and it’s kind of cool. But that’s not what they’re talking about, at all, and he reminds Peter of this fact.</p><p>“Yes it is what we’re talking about,” Peter mutters. “Just listen. So it turns out Morgan’s crying kind of, um...triggers the feeling? And I guess like, it started...I don’t know, learning or something, figuring out how to pick up her distress signals earlier. So when she starts moving too much in her sleep, or like, whimpering, or anything that comes before crying...I just...wake up. Like that.” He snaps his fingers. “So I figured if I’m already up, I might as well go see what’s wrong, you know? It takes me forever to get back to sleep. And that way you get to, like, have a full night’s sleep and I’m pulling my weight and everyone’s happy-”</p><p>Tony’s been listening intently with a kind of horrified fascination, but this snaps him right out of it. “Uh, no, back up. Everyone is most certainly <em>not</em> happy. Are you forgetting who the actual parent is in this situation? Why would you not <em>tell</em> me so that I can actually, you know, take care of my own daughter?”</p><p>Peter’s face falls. Suddenly he looks very, very young. “I...I didn’t think...you said you needed help with the baby, and that’s why...”</p><p>“I just...” Tony waves a hand in frustration and takes Morgan from Peter. “I can’t deal with this right now. Go to bed.”</p><p>“What? It’s only seven.”</p><p>“I don’t care. You’re clearly sleep-deprived anyways. Just go.” </p><p>Without another word, Peter turns on his heel and marches up the stairs. His bedroom door slams behind him. It makes Tony even more pissed off, so he stomps downstairs to the lab as Morgan babbles in his ear.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“This is...God, this is humiliating,” Tony vents to Rhodes on the phone in the soundproofed safety of the lab. “Here I thought I just lucked out and had the easiest newborn ever, and that’s because I haven’t even been parenting her half the time. Because a sixteen-year-old kid is doing it for me. Fuck.”</p><p>“It’s not humiliating,” Rhodes says patiently. “How were you supposed to anticipate the kid’s freaky danger sense?” </p><p>“That’s not what I mean. It’s humiliating that he didn’t - he didn’t tell me when my baby was crying. Like he didn’t think I could handle being woken up a few times in the night.”</p><p>“That’s not what he thought and you know it.”</p><p>“Oh, then do enlighten me, since you’re apparently the expert on Peter Parker and all the weird shit he does.”</p><p>Rhodes hums, sounding interested. “All the weird shit? Does he do other weird shit, or is that just classic Tony hyperbole?”</p><p>“You tell me, chickpea,” Tony grunts, as his squirmy baby tries to make a break for it yet again. “The kid doesn’t tell me anything. It drives me crazy. Every time I ask how he’s doing he just says he’s fine. Vanishes into the woods for hours at a time. Assigns himself homework from his textbooks. Reads parenting books like there’s no tomorrow. He was eating Rice Krispies in secret, I <em>know</em> he was. Jesus. What do I have to do to get this kid to share one little thing without me prying it out of him?”</p><p>“Uh,” Rhodes says, “Okay, there’s a lot to unpack there. You don’t let him eat Rice Krispies?”</p><p>“I do <em>now.</em> Bruce’s diet plan says he’s allowed milk and breakfast cereals at this point. But he was eating them before he was allowed to.”</p><p>“So you’re complaining that he’s keeping up with his studies, helping you with the baby, getting fresh air of his own volition, and his only act of teenage rebellion so far is eating cereal.”</p><p>“You’re so unhelpful,” Tony complains. “Why are you so unhelpful? I thought you were the authority on child-rearing here.”</p><p>Rhodes lets out a long exhale, knowing Tony is far from done. He’s correct.</p><p>“It’s not that he’s doing those things. Well, it is. I don’t know. What’s normal for a teenager in this situation? Kid’s grieving, has no family left in the world, probably like, hella PTSD from fighting aliens in space and practically starving to death. He’s got bigger fish to fry. Why is he so obsessed with his grades and being a soccer mom? He’s acting like a robot. It’s creepy. I’m supposed to be the parent here, not him.”</p><p>“Does he know that?”</p><p>“Why the hell wouldn’t he?”</p><p>“Tones,” Rhodes says, “You told him you were bringing him along to help. You basically asked him to co-parent with you. So that’s what he’s trying to do.”</p><p>Tony considers that as he bounces Morgan on his knee. She grabs at Tony’s StarkPhone and starts yelling into it. “Ah weh weh, auuueh.”</p><p>“Hi, sweetie pie,” Rhodes coos. “Ooh, how’s my little monkey? Had enough of your stupid dad yet? Ready for a visit from your favourite uncle?”</p><p>“Uwaaauu,” Morgan says, waving an arm around enthusiastically.</p><p>“Okay, I can see how there could’ve been, uh, a miscommunication,” Tony concedes.</p><p>“No shit.”</p><p>“Uncle Rhodey said a bad word,” Tony says gravely to Morgan. “We’re demoting him from favourite uncle. You hear that? Bruce is your favourite now.”</p><p>“Oh, you sad old hypocrite. ‘Shit’ is going to be her first word, guaranteed.”</p><p>“Whatever. Fuck off. So how do I make him stop?”</p><p>“Stop what? Co-parenting?”</p><p>“Yeah, that.”</p><p>“Easy. Try parenting him. Remind him that he’s the kid in this situation.”</p><p>Tony frowns. “Parent him? What? I’m not his dad.”</p><p>“No,” Rhodes says, again in that patient tone that’s just a hair off from condescending, “but you’re legally his parent, for all intents and purposes. Kids need structure, whether they’re sixteen or six months. You haven’t been providing him with any structure so he’s inventing it for himself.”</p><p>Tony knows what Rhodes is saying makes sense. He just doesn’t like it. Long after they hang up, Rhodes’ words hover like a dark cloud over his head. Parent a teenager? What the fuck. He hadn’t signed up for <em>that.</em> Babies are easy, but - Tony shakes his head to clear the thought. Babies aren’t easy. He just thinks that because he’s uncommonly well-rested for the father of a three-month-old. </p><p>Well, he figures he’s off to a good start sending the kid to his room. That’s appropriately parental, right? </p><p>Next step is to haul Morgan’s crib out of her room and roll down the railing so that he can put it right up against his bed, like he’d done when they were staying in the medbay of the compound. Good luck pulling a fast one now, <em>Parker.</em> He feeds Morgan and gets her to bed with minimal fuss, then sets an alarm for six a.m. the next morning.</p><p>Morgan wakes up five times. <em>Five. Times.</em> And it takes him anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour to get her back down each time. The fourth and fifth times, he can’t even find anything measurably wrong with her - she’s not hungry, her diaper is fresh and dry, she screams and recoils away when he tries to cuddle her. It’s like those days back at the compound when the only thing he could do to soothe her was take her to visit Peter.</p><p>“We’re not going to see Peter,” Tony tells her grumpily. “Teenagers need sleep too, they have a lot of growing to do. You want him to be short forever?”</p><p>Morgan wails in response. Tony shoves the thought to the back of his mind that Peter’s probably awake now anyways, and decides it’s five-thirty so he may as well give up on getting back to bed before his alarm goes off.</p><p>Tony straps Morgan into her baby carrier and heads downstairs to make breakfast. He probably goes a little overboard - waffles with fresh fruit, bacon, eggs, sausages, fresh-squeezed juice - but he has nothing else to do and a tiny part of him feels a sting realizing why Peter’s been up early every morning making him breakfast. </p><p>Peter emerges from his room around seven, probably lured by the smell of food. He comes hesitantly down the stairs and then pauses at the entryway to the kitchen.</p><p>“Take a seat,” Tony says, piling a plate full of food for him. “You like syrup with your waffles, or jam?”</p><p>“Um, both,” Peter says shyly as he sits down.</p><p>“Pick one, that’s too much sugar.”</p><p>Peter looks taken aback. “Okay. Neither?”</p><p>Tony sighs and passes him the syrup, which Peter dutifully douses his waffles with. They eat in awkward silence.</p><p>After they finish doing the dishes, Peter heads back up to his room and then comes down wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He goes straight for the front door.</p><p>“Where are you going?” Tony says. He’s aiming for appropriately interested, but it comes out kind of confrontational.</p><p>Peter freezes. “Out...for a walk?”</p><p>Tony frowns at that. He wonders if it makes him a terrible guardian to let one of his charges just vanish into the outdoors for hours at a time, especially when there’s close to no cell reception and he can’t exactly track where Peter’s going. On the other hand, fresh air is a good thing. Supposedly.</p><p>“I, um, don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”</p><p>“Just...be home before noon,” Tony says, turning back around to put the syrup back in the pantry. When he looks back Peter is gone without so much as a goodbye.</p><p>When Peter returns Tony has made them lunch, turkey sandwiches on rye with fresh veggies and dip. They haven’t really been eating lunch regularly, just kind of foraging until dinner, but Tony figures three square meals is about as basic as it gets. So they sit down, share another awkward meal, do the dishes and clean up. <em>God almighty,</em> Tony thinks, <em>parenting is exhausting.</em> He feels like he’s just finished making and cleaning up lunch when Morgan’s due for another feeding, and then after that there’s laundry to do, then it’s almost time to start making dinner.</p><p>After dinner and another round of dishes, Peter’s eyes flicker between the stairs and where Tony has finally gotten a chance to sit down on the couch, as if weighing his options. He seems to decide in favour of sticking around and grabs his physics textbook from the shelf as he heads towards his favourite armchair.</p><p>“You should give the studying a rest,” Tony says. Once again something that had started out as a well-intentioned suggestion comes out as an order. Tony regrets it immediately, but he can’t help it. He’s a bossy person and has never really had a compelling reason to dial it back. </p><p>“Okay,” Peter agrees defeatedly, shelving the textbook again with a forlorn look. He stretches out on his stomach in front of the fireplace instead, staring listlessly into the crackling flames. </p><p>After Tony sends Peter to bed at ten-thirty, reminding him to brush his teeth, he finally has a minute to sprawl out on the couch. The first thing he does is dig out his phone and text Rhodes.</p><p><em>Success,</em> he types. <em>The kid has been parented.</em></p><p><em>Congratulations,</em> comes Rhodes’ response ten minutes later. <em>A whole day. Amazing. He’s practically ready for college now.</em></p><p>Tony leaves him on read. Whatever. Next time he visits he’ll be blown away by Tony’s ability to run a tight ship.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Two weeks later, Peter snaps.</p><p>“What do you mean, no?” Tony says, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Peter is face-down in his bed with a pillow crammed over his head. Tony feels totally at a loss. The kid has never told him ‘no’ before. At least not since before Titan.</p><p>“It’s almost noon. You need to get up. You can’t just sleep all day.”</p><p>“Yes I can,” Peter mutters, barely audible from under his pillow. “It’s not like there’s anything else to do.”</p><p>The <em>audacity</em> of this kid. Tony shifts Morgan to one arm and uses the other to peel the blankets off Peter. “<em>Excuse</em> me?”</p><p>Peter doesn’t reply, or even acknowledge that his blankets are gone.</p><p>“Get up. Now.” Tony uses his scariest CEO voice, the one that usually sends everyone in the boardroom scurrying to do his bidding. </p><p>Peter doesn’t scurry, exactly, but he does sit up in bed and glare at Tony. “Get out of my room then. I need to change.”</p><p>Tony reheats a plate of ham and eggs benedict, sets it at Peter’s spot, then waits for him at the kitchen table after stowing Morgan in her baby swing. Peter stomps down the steps around twenty minutes later, by which time his breakfast has cooled again.</p><p>“Have a seat,” Tony says, trying a step down from his scary voice to what he imagines is merely stern. Peter hurls himself into the chair with so much force Tony can hear the wood groaning.</p><p>“Are you going to eat your breakfast?”</p><p>“It’s cold,” Peter grunts, pushing it away.</p><p>And that’s it. Tony is officially pissed.</p><p>“It’s cold because I made it for you <em>hours</em> ago,” he snaps, shoving the plate back towards Peter. “You want to explain who the hell pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”</p><p>“Not particularly,” Peter replies.</p><p>“You know what, Peter?” Tony says. “I am busting my ass for you, day in and day out. You’ve been like an automaton every since we got here. So I thought, hey, maybe the kid needs a little structure. I’ve been spending all my time cooking for you, cleaning, trying to make sure you don’t kill yourself studying all day - do you have <em>any</em> idea how hard it is to single-handedly parent a baby and a-”</p><p>“You’re not my dad! ” Peter says sharply, slamming his fist on the table. The wood visibly splinters. “Is this what you think parenting is? Ordering me around and not letting me do anything more interesting than walking around the stupid lake once a day? What a fucking joke.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m not your real dad, you hate me, blah blah blah,” Tony says venomously, jabbing a finger towards Peter’s chest. “The <em>fucking nerve</em> of you, kid. It’s unbelievable. I give you a home - feed you, clothe you - and you come back with <em>this</em> shit? I thought you were better than this.”</p><p>“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come here,” Peter cries. He’s standing up now, his fists clenched so hard they’re turning white. “You said - you <em>said</em> this wasn’t - you said I’d be <em>helping</em> and that’s the only reason I agreed to come and you won’t let me <em>help</em> anymore -”</p><p>“You don’t need to be running a household, Peter, you need - you need structure, guidance-”</p><p>“<em>I don’t need any more fucking parents! </em>” Peter yells. “Just <em>stop!</em> I don’t want that. I can’t. <em>I can’t.</em>” Tears are streaming openly down his face now, which has gone ghostly white.</p><p>In the midst of the clamour Morgan has woken up and begun to cry, and the sound is grating at Tony’s ears. He’s exhausted from the constant sleepless nights, the never-ending chores, the stress of not understanding how to reach Peter. He stares up at this kid, this child with the huge wide eyes and the pale face who is clearly coming apart right in front of him, and fuck. He’s failed again. He’s failed this kid again. He gets up from the table, feeling dangerously unsteady, and lurches towards the door. He needs <em>air.</em> He needs to get away. This is so fucked up. He can’t be in the same room as all his mistakes laid bare. The atmosphere is <em>suffocating.</em> </p><p>Tony bursts out the door, not even bothering with shoes, slams it behind him, starts walking towards the woods and picking up speed as he goes. When he’s far enough away from the cabin - maybe ten minutes, maybe twenty, he has no idea, it just has to be far enough that the kid’s enhanced hearing can’t pick it up-</p><p>He drops to his knees and cries.</p><p>It’s a kind of crying he’s never experienced before, not even on that first day at the cabin. This is a long, ragged howl, leaving his chest in a way that feels like it physically hurts. Maybe it does. He digs the heel of his palms into his eyes and sobs. He cries for his mom. He cries for the man who had died in the cave and emerged as Iron Man, as someone who hurt everyone he loved and put them all in danger over and over again. He cries because he misses Steve, and Nat, and Clint, and because things had gotten so deeply fucked up that they could never be the same. He cries most of all for Pepper Potts.</p><p>Pepper, <em>Pepper,</em> his beautiful wife who was often the only thing anchoring him to earth, keeping him from drifting away through a wormhole in his mind. Pepper who made that stupid twelve-percent joke every time she could work it into a conversation, Pepper who would try any food once but couldn’t stand squash of any kind, Pepper who had spent her pregnancy reading the biographies of history’s most famous women out loud to the baby at night, stroking her belly as if to say <em>these are your cohort, you belong among them.</em> Pepper who ran her company with an unbendable will of steel but cried freely in couples therapy when Tony admitted he still dreamt constantly about her falling into the flames. Pepper who had tapped on the nanobot housing unit during their last conversation and said, “You don’t need this.”</p><p>He hadn’t needed it. The suit had come forth at his bidding and it had done nothing to stop Thanos. All he had done was rob himself of his last moments with his wife and nearly get Peter killed. She had been right, as was her way.</p><p>“What do I do, Pep?” he chokes out, his voice hoarse. “<em>Please.</em> You always knew what to do. Always. Please don’t leave me alone. I need you. Morgan needs you.” Another sob comes gasping out of his chest. “Peter needs you.”</p><p>As soon as he says it, he knows it’s true. If Pepper were here, she would know how to coax Peter out of his shell. She’d be able to figure out the tricky balance between caring for him and letting him become his own person. She’d be able to make him feel loved without seeming like she was trying to replace Ben, or May, or any of the myriad people the kid had lost in his short life.</p><p>But she won’t. She can’t. She’s gone.</p><p>Time passes sluggishly. Tony lays in the dirt, flat on his back, not caring about the dampness spreading through his clothes from the morning's frost. He stares up at the tree canopy above. He can’t see how he’ll ever get up. His wife is gone and she’s never coming back. May Parker is gone and Peter will have to live out the rest of his life as the very last of the Parker family. Half of the living universe is gone. Dissolved into the air, carried away on the wind, no bodies to bury. No evidence that they were ever there at all.</p><p>Would Tony feel better, he wonders, if Pepper’s bones were resting deep in the earth somewhere marked by a heavy stone? He doesn’t know. It doesn’t feel like it should matter, but it does. His parents are still here, part of the soil and all the natural cycles that entails, and yet Pepper was just taken out of the equation entirely.</p><p>It’s fucked up, he decides. It’s fucked up and he hates it.</p><p>“Fuck Thanos,” Tony says aloud to the tree canopy. It comes out flat and empty.</p><p>More time passes. Tony has no idea how long, but the sun rises high in the sky and then starts to dip. He wonders if the kids are okay. Probably. Possibly even better off without him around fucking things up.</p><p>The last thought is so blatantly self-pitying that it jerks him out of his stupor. Pepper would’ve given him hell for saying something that pathetic. <em>Tony,</em> he can almost hear her voice saying in his head, stern but teasing, <em>for God’s sake. That’s just sad. Get up, honey.</em></p><p>Tony sits up abruptly. The sky is starting to tinge pink. Fuck. He’s left the kids alone nearly all day. What the hell is wrong with him? He’d promised Peter he was trying to be less of a shitty mess of an adult, and here he is spending an entire day lying on his back in the dirt crying. Jesus fuck.</p><p>He sets back towards the cabin at the jog. It takes a surprisingly long time to get back, and the sun has set by the time he arrives. He must’ve walked farther than he thought. He takes the porch stairs in one bound, and throws the door open. </p><p>Peter is laying sprawled on his back on the couch, fast asleep with one arm wrapped around Morgan, who’s snoozing comfortably on his chest. Tony notices that the kid is wearing his sneakers, which are decidedly dirty, and that Morgan’s little baby jacket is lying discarded on the floor along with her carrier. His heart contracts as he realizes Peter was out there looking for him with an infant strapped to his chest.</p><p>Tony makes his way upstairs as quietly as he can so as not to disturb the kids and changes into a t-shirt and clean sweats. Once that’s done he goes back down and very carefully pries Morgan from Peter’s grip. If there’s one thing he’s good at from years of building bombs, it’s delicate manual extractions. Neither stir and Tony puts Morgan to bed. He’ll bathe her tomorrow.</p><p>He debates waking Peter up, but the kid looks so thoroughly exhausted that he can’t make himself do it. Instead he uses the same steady precision to work Peter’s shoes off and cover him with a quilt. He adds another few logs to the fire and turns to leave.</p><p>Something makes him turn back around. He crouches next to Peter, arms crossed over his knees, and watches the kid for a minute. The steady rise and fall of his chest, strong and even.</p><p><em>I’ll do better,</em> Tony thinks. He’s not sure whether he’s talking to Peter or to Pepper’s ghost, but it doesn’t matter. He means it.<em> I promise. I’ll do better.</em></p><p>After a long moment he takes one last look at the kid, and then fishes his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through his contact list until he finds the name he wants.</p><p>
  <em>I fucked up. I need help.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Rhodes arrives the next day to help them sort their shit out.</p><p>“Rhodey!” Peter cries in delight, as Rhodes closes the door behind him and opens his arms for a hug. Peter throws himself into them enthusiastically.</p><p>“Hey, Pete,” Rhodes says, swaying the kid back and forth. “Good to see you. Hey, look at you, finally put on some poundage.”</p><p>“Yep,” Peter says proudly. “Hit my goal weight last week. But you know who’s even more impressive? Morgan. She’s thirteen whole pounds now.”</p><p>“What?” Rhodes laughs, prying Peter off him and mussing up his hair. “Now this I gotta see. Where’s my monkey?”</p><p>Tony feels a little ache watching the easy affection between them. He hadn’t realized Peter and Rhodey were that close. <em>Or maybe,</em> a nasty little voice in his head says, <em>it’s easy for everyone to get close to Peter but you. </em></p><p>Peter is holding Morgan in Rhodes’ face as she babbles happily. “Ah yeh yeh,” she squeals, reaching for his nose. “Wuuah!”</p><p>“Watch this,” Peter says as Rhodes takes Morgan. He leans in close and puts one hand on each of her round pink cheeks. “Huhuhu.”</p><p>Morgan shrieks with laughter, kicking her feet violently.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Rhodes says, turning her around to face him. “Let me try. Huhuhuhuhu.”</p><p>After Morgan has laughed herself out, Rhodes sits down on the couch and motions for Peter and Tony to sit down too.</p><p>“So,” Rhodes says, using his sternest military voice, which he then completely undermines by taking Morgan’s chubby little hand and using it to point at both of them. “Against my better judgment, I let my best friend adopt Spider-Man, and everything has gone absolutely to shit.”</p><p>“He didn’t adopt me,” Peter says sourly, at the same time Tony protests “You didn’t <em>let</em> me do anything.”</p><p>“Everything has gone to shit,” Rhodes repeats, punctuating each word by making punching motions with Morgan’s arms. </p><p>“Euuwah!” Morgan yells in agreement.</p><p>“Peter,” Rhodes says. “I know you have this whole independent thing going on, and you think you can take care of yourself with no help, but you’re still a minor. You need to give a little and let Tony be the adult.”</p><p>“What?” Peter cries. “How come you’re siding with him?”</p><p>“I’m not. He’s an idiot.”</p><p>“Hey,” Tony complains. “Don’t undermine my adult-ness in front of the kid.”</p><p>“And you,” Rhodes says, turning on him, “need to be a better adult so that the kid feels like he can relax a little without you going to pieces.”</p><p>“So helpful,” Tony grumbles. Rhodes continues on as if he hadn’t heard Tony. “But this means both of you have to put in the work. Do you understand? Pete, Tony is really making an effort here, so you have to meet him halfway.”</p><p>“I did,” Peter insists. “I did everything he said for like, two whole weeks.”</p><p>“Listen to me, kid. Being obedient isn’t making an effort, it’s taking the path of least resistance. I think you know what I mean when I say you have to let Tony take care of you. It’s not going to come easy, especially to you, but it’s important.” Rhodes glances at Tony. “You and I are going to have a talk later about what being a better adult means.”</p><p>“Looking forward to it,” Tony says, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Because that would be immature and thus proving Rhodes’ point.</p><p>Rhodes carries on ignoring him. “For now we’re going to make a chore chart.”</p><p>“A what?” Peter groans. “We don’t need one. May and I never had one.”</p><p>This is the first time Peter has mentioned his aunt, and Tony’s stomach does a flip. He feels suddenly violently opposed to a chore chart and opens his mouth to speak up.</p><p>“I know,” Rhodes says soothingly, before Tony can get a word out. “You and May didn’t need one. You and Tony do. Just trust me on this, yeah?”</p><p>A few minutes in, it becomes apparent why they need a chart.</p><p>“I don’t get it. Why don’t we just do alternating nighttime feedings? It’s only fair.”</p><p>“No it’s not, kid. You’re still growing, you need more sleep than I do. You take every third one.”</p><p>“Well, will you still let me make breakfast?”</p><p>“Weekend mornings only.”</p><p>“Come <em>on</em> Mr. Stark, I don’t need to sleep in all the time.”</p><p>“This is so weird,” Rhodes groans, rolling his eyes. “You two are literally fighting over who gets to do more chores. Who knew Tony’s insane martyr complex lives on in a teenage mutant.”</p><p>“Mutate.”</p><p>“Shut up, Tones. Peter does every third nighttime feeding and makes breakfast Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. You both split dish duty and alternate giving Morgan her bath each morning.” Rhodes scribbles this all on the large calendar he’s brought. “There, I wrote it down, it’s the law now. Who’s taking lunches?”</p><p>“Um,” Peter says shyly, like he wants to raise his hand. </p><p>“Yeah, kid?” Tony prompts.</p><p>“I kind of...liked what we were doing before? Just kind of snacking throughout the day until dinner.”</p><p>“Thank God,” Tony sighs. “Three meals a day is such time-consuming bullshit.”</p><p>“Hey, there you go,” Rhodes says delightedly. “You two idiots are really getting the hang of this.”</p><p>After the chore chart is done Rhodes supervises them as they clean the bathroom, barking out instructions. (“There’s a space <em>behind</em> the toilet that needs scrubbing, you pigs. Lord almighty.”) Then he shows Peter a morning exercise routine that uses no equipment other than Peter’s own bodyweight and instructs him to pair it with a twenty-minute jog for improved energy and mental clarity. After that he cooks them both a roast beef dinner with apple crumble for dessert.</p><p>As Peter naps off his food coma on the couch with Morgan on his chest, Tony and Rhodes sit on the porch together, passing a joint back and forth.</p><p>“How come he didn’t tell me he’d hit his goal weight?” Tony says, taking a long drag. “He knows I’m invested in his whole, you know, miraculous journey back from the brink of death. I made him meals from Bruce’s handbook for weeks and gave him shit about the secret Rice Krispies thing.”</p><p>“I don’t know, Tones.” Rhodes takes the joint from between his fingertips. “You two are so similar. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for you to connect.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“No idea. Just spouting wise-sounding bullshit.”</p><p>“As always.”</p><p>“Hell yeah.”</p><p>Tony leans his head on Rhodes’ shoulder and frowns up at the sky. “That’s a fuckton of stars. It’s freaking me out. Can’t you just cancel all your important military stuff and come take care of us forever?”</p><p>Rhodes slings his arm around Tony’s shoulder and draws him in close. “You’re not gonna believe me, Tones, but there’s no one better than you for this job. I was wrong. You and the kid are good for each other.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The four-month sleep regression hits them hard. Morgan goes back to the kind of inconsolable wailing of the first few weeks of her life, but this time little can soothe her. They try everything, even running the shower and filling the bathroom with warm steam to mimic the temperature of Peter’s old room at the medbay. Peter reads endlessly about colic and reflux. When the pediatrician in Mayfield tells them there’s nothing physically wrong with Morgan, Tony pays a pediatrician from the city an exorbitant sum to drive out and make a house call. The diagnosis is the same: the baby is fine and they’re just going to have to suck it up and tough it out.</p><p>They stick to the chore chart sometimes, and then sometimes they’re so tired that they both immediately hit the couch to catch some sleep every time Morgan goes down for a nap and manage little more than Pop-Tarts for dinner. Peter takes to doing chores in the middle of the night when he can’t get back to sleep. Tony catches him once scrubbing behind the toilet at 3 a.m. He’s too tired to question it, but he does make sure to cook a nice waffle breakfast when they both officially get up for the day at 1 p.m. Sometimes Tony falls asleep on the floor of Morgan’s room. Once or twice Peter falls asleep in there with him.</p><p>They make it through. After five weeks Morgan passes through the worst of it. Tony and Peter spend a full week catching up on sleep, they re-commit to the chore chart. Things aren’t easy, it’s never easy, but they drifts back towards that something they’d been building earlier on.</p><p>“Finished with the firewood,” Peter says, swiping an arm over his forehead as he trudges back in through the front door. “Kind of looks like it’s going to snow again tomorrow, so I put most of it under the tarp and then some under the deck just to be extra safe. I think we’ve got enough for the rest of the week at least.”</p><p>“Thanks, kid,” Tony says. He’s sitting in the armchair perusing a cookbook and making notes on recipes while Morgan practices her tummy time nearby. “Hey, you think you could split firewood with like, your bare hands?”</p><p>“I mean, yeah, probably. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“No reason.”</p><p>“Your dad loves dumb hypotheticals, huh, moon pie?” Peter goes to lift Morgan into his arms, but Tony lifts one leg, barring his path towards the baby. </p><p>“You’re gross. Go shower. Quit giving my daughter weird food nicknames.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll be back soon,” he says to Morgan. She growls at him. The growling is a recent thing and extremely funny, so of course Peter can’t help but get down on his stomach and crawl under Tony’s leg so they’re face-to-face.</p><p>“Grrr,” Peter says, making a scary face.</p><p>“Raaaagh,” Morgan growls in reply, lifting her arms to reach for him, which causes her to topple on her face. “Rrrgh,” she grunts into her playmat.</p><p>“Ooh, that’s right,” Peter coos, “Who’s my little monster. Not you, because you’re sleeping more than two hours at a time now, aren’t you. Grrrr.”</p><p>“Grahhh,” Morgan replies.</p><p>“She’s growling at you because you stink,” Tony says, letting his leg drop so that his foot hits Peter’s back.</p><p>“Oof. Fine, I’m going.” Peter shrugs off Tony's foot and wiggles back into a sitting position. “Man. This is so nice. Look at the two of us, well-rested, chores all done, baby fed and clean. It almost feels like it’s getting easier, you know? Like we finally have a handle on it.”</p><p>“Uh huh,” Tony says, engrossed in the instructions for a risotto. Peter stands up and heads towards the stairs. Morgan watches him go, growls escalating in volume.</p><p>“Aww, I’ll be right back,” Peter says, waving bye-bye. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”</p><p>Morgan kicks her arms and legs. She looks up at Peter, then down at her playmat, then up at Peter again, as if measuring the distance between them. </p><p>Then, all in one motion, she executes a perfect roll.</p><p>Tony and Peter look at each other, eyes wide, mouths gaping. </p><p>“She’s - did she just-”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“Fuck,” they say in unison. The baby is officially on the move.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh my God writing babies is SO. MUCH. RESEARCH. Lucky for me a lot of that research is watching hilarious videos of babies growling on YouTube. A writer's life is tough.</p><p>As always thank you all so much for the wonderful comments, it's a big part of the reason I've been motivated enough to do three chapters in the last week! You're all so kind and I've loved hearing your feedback. (Also one reader used the phrase "Two idiot geniuses and a baby" in a comment and I'm like, damn, I'd have missed a titling opportunity for this fic if I weren't so committed to using Eagles lyrics.)</p><p>See ya next chapter with a BABY ON THE MOVE.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. It may be rainin', but there's a rainbow above you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Waffle. Waffle waffle waffle. Waaaaffle.”</p><p>“Aaaaa.”</p><p>“Come on, say ‘waffle.’”</p><p>“Deh deh.”</p><p>Peter frowns and pushes the little chunk of waffle on Morgan’s high-chair tray closer to her flailing hands. “You really don’t want any? I made this, dude. Slaved over a hot waffle iron for <em>minutes</em>. Not even a pity bite?”</p><p>“Eeee,” Morgan squeals, and hurls her spoon at the floor.</p><p>Peter sighs and bends down to retrieve the spoon, only for Morgan to chuck it again three seconds later, shrieking with laughter.</p><p>“Yes, hilarious,” Peter says. “Keep it up and you might be as annoying as your dad someday. Ha, ha, I’m kidding, he’s reached heights of annoying that the rest of us can only aspire to.”</p><p>“Auh,” Morgan agrees. “Dehdee.”</p><p>When Morgan had first started saying ‘dada’ and ‘dehdee,’ Mr. Stark had flipped his shit and gotten really weird and emotional, and then suffered the crushing realization that she didn’t really know what she was saying because <em>everything</em> was ‘dehdee,’ from Peter to Rhodey to a little stuffed raccoon she particularly liked. Peter on the other hand was thrilled because this meant her first real word was still up for grabs.</p><p>“Come on, bug. Say ‘waffle.’”</p><p>Morgan ignores him and throws her spoon again.</p><p>“Ugh,” Peter groans.</p><p>Morgan nods sagely. “Ugh.”</p><p>“Kids! I’m home,” Mr. Stark calls as the front door bangs open.</p><p>Peter takes a deep breath. It’s not like Mr. Stark doesn’t call him ‘kid’ all the time, but somehow being ‘kids’ - lumped into a group, with Morgan – makes his stomach do an uncomfortable little flip. It’s been happening more and more lately. Peter’s not sure that Mr. Stark even notices that he’s doing it.</p><p>“Hey, stinkers,” Mr. Stark says, popping his head around the wall into the kitchen. “Pete, the food is supposed to go into the baby, not all over the floor.”</p><p>Peter groans and buries his head in his hands. “Tell Morgan that. I give up.”</p><p>Mr. Stark comes over to scoop Morgan out of her highchair. “Oh, I know,” he coos, “You love throwing things, don’t you? You’re an annoying little shit, just like your daddy, aren’t you? Aren’t you.”</p><p>“Mr. <em>Stark</em>,” Peter says, lifting his head to glare at him, “Do you want her first word to be a swear?”</p><p>Mr. Stark scoffs. “I know you swear around the baby all the time. Don’t get all superior with me, we both know it’s a lost cause.” He hefts Morgan in his arms. “Oof. You’re getting heavy. You and Peter been hitting the gym while I’m gone?”</p><p>“She hit nineteen pounds yesterday,” Peter says with a grin, “and she’s 28 inches long. Exactly average for a nine-month old boy.”</p><p>“Oh, you hear that, Morguna? The disciple of Holy Murkoff says that you’re a tank. An absolute unit. Well done, baby girl.”</p><p>Peter can’t help but laugh. Mr. Stark hands him the baby, though she’s struggling to get free and clearly wants to be crawling around causing havoc at ground level. “Here. Go liberate the beast and I’ll clean up.”</p><p>“You don’t have to, Mr. Stark-”</p><p>Mr. Stark makes a ‘zip it’ motion with a finger over his lips. “Don’t argue with me when I’m trying to be a responsible adult. Sets a bad precedent.”</p><p>Peter takes Morgan into the living room and lets her free, where she promptly makes a beeline for the fireplace. Peter’s used to this game. Morgan loves the fireplace, possibly because it’s the one place she’s really not supposed to crawl into, so Peter’s on goalie duty, fending her off with his legs while he cracks open a book and tries to get a little studying done.</p><p>A little while later, Mr. Stark wanders into the living room and sits down heavily in the armchair. At first he looks kind of lost in thought, but then he turns his gaze on Peter, watching him study. After a few minutes Peter looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. He’s got <em>that </em>face on – the face where he wants to talk to Peter about something, and it’s clearly going to be just close enough to feelings-talk to make them both wildly uncomfortable.</p><p>It’s not like Peter is out of touch with his emotions. Ben and May raised him to talk about his feelings, openly and often, and were really good (May especially) at prying things out of him when they wouldn’t come out naturally. He and Ned had talked long into the night during sleepovers about their anxieties and excitement about high school. It’s just that...Mr. Stark is, well, Tony Stark. Iron Man. One of the smartest and most influential people on earth, and someone Peter has looked up to since he was a little kid. Tony Stark, <em>the </em>Tony Stark, has for some reason decided to take him in and look after him, even though he’s grieving his wife and the Avengers and raising a baby. It just feels a little sad to dump Peter’s own problems on top of the pile.</p><p>“You’ve got a weird look on your face,” Mr. Stark says with a frown.</p><p>“I do not.” Peter clears his throat. “<em>You’ve </em>got a weird look on your face. If I had a weird look it was just a reaction to your weird look.”</p><p>“Low blow, going after my face like that. You’re so mean.”</p><p>“You went after my face first!”</p><p>“Whatcha studying?”</p><p>Peter sighs. After seven months he’s starting to get used to these dizzying pivots in conversational topics. “English Lit.”</p><p>“Ew, why?”</p><p>“What do you mean, ew? English is important too.”</p><p>“Important for what?”</p><p>“Being a well-rounded, uh, student. Human being.”</p><p>Mr. Stark does <em>the face</em> again and leans forward. “You wanna go back to school?”</p><p>Peter slams his book shut, mostly in surprise. “No. Um. No thanks.” He looks away from Mr. Stark, down at where Morgan is still trying to propel herself over his ankles and into the fireplace. “Do you...want me to go back to school?”</p><p>“No! No. That’s not what I meant. I just...” Mr. Stark rubs at his goatee, which he always does when he’s stressed. Peter feels bad for stressing him out, so he puts the book aside, hauls Morgan into his lap and gives Mr. Stark his undivided attention.</p><p>“What do you want?” Mr. Stark asks him.</p><p>“Uh...” Peter tilts his head. “Sorry, what?”</p><p>“I mean...” Mr. Stark sighs. “Are you happy here, Peter?”</p><p>That’s a big question, and Peter doesn’t really know what to do with it. He’s not happy, really – but that’s not Mr. Stark’s fault. It’s Thanos’ fault. He misses May desperately. He misses Ben just as much. He thinks about Ned every single day and often catches himself checking his phone, even though he knows there won’t be any new messages. He misses Midtown and the Decathlon team, even MJ rolling her eyes and calling him a loser.</p><p>But he likes Mr. Stark, and he likes Morgan (who is he kidding, he <em>loves </em>Morgan,) and he has a roof over his head and enough to eat. Mr. Stark treats him well and clearly cares about making sure he’s looked after, which is more than a lot of kids can say.</p><p>“Sure,” he says cautiously, hoping Mr. Stark will understand all the layers under that one word.</p><p>“Sorry,” Mr. Stark sighs, “Big question. I know everything kind of sucks right now. Whew, understatement of the century award goes to Anthony Edward Stark, hold your applause. I didn’t mean, like, ‘are you skipping around crapping rainbows.’ I meant...is there anything you want that I could get you? Or do for you? You just don’t really ask for things, that’s all.”</p><p>Peter smiles. “That’s really nice, Mr. Stark. I can’t think of anything. I have everything I need.”</p><p>“It’s not always about what you need, kid,” Mr. Stark says. He gets out of his chair and sits down on the floor next to Peter. “It’s okay to want things you don’t need. Of course, don’t let it get out of control, or you end up like me with more cars than you could ever drive and a designated party room in your Malibu mansion. Man. Thank God that room got blown up, it was a monstrosity. Too bad about the rest of the mansion though. All the areas Pepper was in charge of were gorgeous. Wait, what were we talking about?”</p><p>“I don’t think I’m in danger of owning a mansion with a party room,” Peter says with a grin.</p><p>“Quit misdirecting me, you insolent child. Quick, name a thing you want.” Mr. Stark starts snapping his fingers obnoxiously in Peter’s face.</p><p>“An alpaca.”</p><p>Mr. Stark takes Peter’s flippant response in stride. “Okay, noted. Name another thing. Go, go, go.”</p><p>“Um,” Peter says, finding it hard to think with the assault of words and snapping fingers. “A garden?”</p><p>“Great,” Mr. Stark says. “See? Fun little exercise, keeps you from overthinking. What do you want to grow?”</p><p>Peter tilts his head. “Vegetables?”</p><p>“Don’t ask me, tell me.”</p><p>“Vegetables. And marigolds.”</p><p>Mr. Stark smiles. It’s open, genuine, without a hint of sarcasm. “Okay. Bundle up the baby, we’re going into town.”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“To get seeds and whatever other stuff you need for a garden. A shovel, I guess.”</p><p>“Right now?”</p><p>“Yep. <em>Andiamo</em>.”</p><p>Peter’s been into town once or twice, but he generally stays at home with Morgan while Mr. Stark runs errands. So he feels uneasy as they bundle Morgan’s carseat, and stroller, and diaper bag into the back of the SUV Mr. Stark had bought shortly before they moved in. When they’re at the cabin it’s – not easy to pretend, per se, but easy to ignore the fact that there’s a whole world out there that’s been decimated. Driving into town means driving past the hallmarks of the apocalypse, the empty homes and broken road signs.</p><p>Mr. Stark talks non-stop the whole time, in a stream-of-consciousness that manages to be both funny and comforting and takes Peter’s mind off the drive just a little bit. When they reach Mayfield he drives right past the hardware store and pulls into the parking lot of a little diner.</p><p>“Mr. Stark?”</p><p>“I know you can eat more,” Mr. Stark says, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “You can always eat more. I don’t know where you put it all, but it’s obviously going somewhere.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says hesitantly, and follows him in. They plow their way through a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes, and eggs benedict, and bacon and sausage and a fruit plate, while Morgan hurls Cheerios in every direction and basks in the adoration of the diner staff. Then they hit up the hardware store and a very nice older man loads up their cart with all the gardening essentials and a couple of how-to books for good measure.</p><p>On the drive back, Peter feels uncomfortable and restless and he can’t exactly put his finger on why. He can’t help fidgeting in his seat and turning around to check on Morgan every two minutes.</p><p>“So do we have to plant things in a formation? Or can we just chuck seeds at the dirt and let them grow wherever they land? Morgan would love that, she can be our Officer of Planting.”</p><p>“Nah,” Peter says distractedly, “I think there has to be a formation. And you have to grow beans next to tomatoes for some reason. Also you can’t grow potatoes near other stuff.”</p><p>“What?” Mr. Stark frowns. “How do you know all that? You grew up in Queens.”</p><p>“People have vegetable gardens in Queens.” Peter rolls his eyes. “Some people have lawns, even. I know. Astonishing.”</p><p>“How the hell would I know?” Mr. Stark says defensively. “I’ve only been to Queens like, twice, and I try to stay away from dirt on principle.”</p><p>“And yet here you are, with five bags of fertilizer in your SUV.”</p><p>“You can’t judge me, city boy. We’re gonna be like Paris and Nicole on The Simple Life.”</p><p>“The what?”</p><p>“Oh, <em>god</em>, that aired in 2003. Please tell me you were born in 2003.”</p><p>“I was two.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ. Don’t say hurtful things like that.”</p><p>“Shrek came out before I was born.”</p><p>Mr. Stark makes a pained noise and reaches over to clamp his hand over Peter’s mouth. Peter licks him and laughs as he shrieks and yanks his hand back, but then Mr. Stark retaliates by wiping off his palm in Peter’s hair.</p><p>“Aaaaaghhh,” Peter groans, slumping over like he’s been killed. “FRIDAY, I’m writing Mr. Stark out of my will. Everything goes to Morgan.”</p><p>“Noted,” FRIDAY says drily from the car speakers. Peter wonders if she’s actually putting a note in his legal files. He assumes that any AI built by Mr. Stark has at least a rudimentary sense of humour, but it’s impossible to tell how far that extends.</p><p>“FRIDAY, override,” Mr. Stark says. “I’m his legal guardian and I get the final say on his estate. Dibs on the bags of dirt, Morgan can have the rest.”</p><p>“Noted,” FRIDAY says again, with what sounds suspiciously like a sigh.</p><p>“Mr. Stark,” Peter bursts out before he can stop himself, “if you hate dirt how come you want to help me with the garden?”</p><p>Mr. Stark looks taken aback by the sudden pivot away from bantering, and reaches up to adjust his sunglasses. “Er. I don’t hate dirt, per se, that was just hyperbole. Dirt is great. Nine out of ten worm dentists agree. The tenth worm dentist only disagrees because it looks really suspicious to consumers when there’s unanimous consensus.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Anyways, the point is, kid, I want us to do something fun together that you like.”</p><p>“We do lots of fun stuff. We watch movies sometimes.”</p><p>“Are you hearing yourself? That’s just sad. You’ve got to branch out a little, Pete. I know you’re really big on helping around the house and helping with Morgan and I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate that, but it’s okay to have fun. It’s okay to take a break and just...spend a couple hours throwing dirt around, even if we fuck it up and grow horrible mutant vegetables. No offense to mutants.”</p><p>As Mr. Stark rambles on, Peter’s eyes have welled up with tears that are now dripping freely down his face.</p><p>
  <em>It’s okay to have fun.</em>
</p><p>“Woah there,” Mr. Stark says sharply, suddenly noticing Peter’s distraught expression. “I was kidding about the mutant thing. I didn’t know you were sensitive about it. Oh, fuck, how many times have I jokingly called you a mutant over the last few months? I am so insensitive. Wow. Oh Lordy.” Mr. Stark holds out his arm. “You wanna punch me? I’d deserve it, I’m such an asshole. I promise I’ll lay off the mutant jokes. Kid. Kid? What’s going on?”</p><p>“I don’t wanna punch you,” Peter says, his voice wobbling in a way that makes him feel sick with shame.</p><p>“Good, because you are <em>crazy </em>strong and I’d probably break something, but-wow, kid, I’m really sorry-”</p><p>“It’s not the mutant thing.” Peter can’t even bring himself to lift a hand and swipe away the tears. “Anyways, I’m a mutate.”</p><p>“Oh,” Mr. Stark says faintly, “that’s right. Right you are.”</p><p>They pull into the driveway and then sit there in silence for a moment, neither moving to unbuckle their seatbelts as Morgan snoozes in the backseat. Then Mr. Stark reaches out a hand and tentatively puts it on Peter’s shoulder. That’s it for Peter. The floodgates break and he starts to sob in earnest, hunching over and stuffing his fists into his mouth to muffle the noise.</p><p>“Oh, kid,” he can hear Mr. Stark say. After a moment the hand comes down to rub his back. “Okay. It’s okay. Let it out, Pete.”</p><p>The hand on his back and the soothing tone remind him so much of Ben that he cries harder. If he closed his eyes and just let himself pretend for a minute, he could be a little kid again, crying over a fight with a friend or losing his glasses again. But Peter knows, from long experience, that if he lets himself pretend for just a minute then it hurts all the more when he opens his eyes again. Ben is gone, May is gone, Ned is gone – he lost them all in just under two and a half years – and now he’s supposed to act like that’s okay and plant a stupid vegetable garden and do normal things like his whole world hasn’t been blown to shit.</p><p>“Feels kind of fucked up, doesn’t it?” Mr. Stark says after a while, as if reading his mind. “You notice when we went into town, some people had Easter decorations up?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter sobs. “I hate it. I <em>hate </em>it.”</p><p>“I know,” Mr. Stark says quietly. “Every time Morgan hits some new baby milestone, I’m – I’m happy, but I hate that Pep isn’t here to see it.” His voice breaks on the last part. Peter reaches up to rest his hand on Mr. Stark’s outstretched arm.</p><p>“I’m really sorry Pepper isn’t here,” Peter says.</p><p>“I know, kid,” Mr. Stark replies. “I’m sorry May isn’t here. Or Ben. I wish they were, and I’m sorry you have to put up with me instead.”</p><p>“It’s not so bad.”</p><p>“You’re such a good kid.” Mr. Stark takes a deep breath and squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “I know I’m, you know, not the best with this stuff. And I don’t tell you that enough. But I really care about you and I’m glad you’re here.”</p><p>The words are delivered awkwardly, but they cause a little bloom of lightness in Peter’s chest that he hasn’t felt in months. He looks up at Mr. Stark and manages a little smile through tears. “I’m glad I’m here, too. Um, before we start on the garden...can I show you something?”</p><p>Mr. Stark brings Morgan into the house and puts her down in her crib, and then they set out along a small path that winds around the lake and then curves off into the forest. The path grows fainter and fainter as they go, but Peter knows it so well he can walk it in total darkness. Eventually the trees give way and they come into a sunny little glade, only about ten feet by ten feet.</p><p>Peter kneels by a stone set right in the middle. “I found these really old chisels in the shed out back,” he says, reaching forward to brush a couple of accumulated leaves from the stone’s surface. “And I thought...I thought it might be nice to have. You know. A place to come and visit her.”</p><p>Mr. Stark kneels next to him and is silent for a long moment.</p><p>“I’m not super good with the chisels yet, so the lettering is kind of crooked,” Peter explains, a flush rising in his cheeks. “I’ve been kind of working on it a little bit every morning. I just...I don’t know. Ben has a really nice headstone back in Queens. My parents, too. It just seemed right for her to have one.”</p><p>MAY PARKER, the stone reads. It’s a nice stone, too; Peter had taken his time choosing it and had found one by the lake that was smooth and was shot through with marble-like banding. He’s cleared the area immediately surrounding it of sticks and pebbles and leaves. The finishing touch is wildflowers arranged to frame the stone. Finding new ones to bring every week soothes his conscience, just a little; he knows it’s something May would have loved when she was alive, so he hopes if her spirit is still around somewhere it’s making her happy.</p><p>Peter bites his lip and examines Mr. Stark’s face. It’s impossible to read – blank and smooth. “I thought,” he says, gathering up his nerve, “maybe, if you wanted, we could make one for Pepper, too. So you could have a place to visit her.”</p><p>Mr. Stark sighs heavily and sits down right there in the dirt. He still hasn’t said a word.</p><p>“I’m sorry if that was, um, out of line. I didn’t mean to impose. Even if you wanted to do it you could, like, find another spot, you know? For privacy. Man. Sorry. May always said I was totally tactless, I know that about myself, I should really think for two seconds before-”</p><p>He’s totally thrown off-guard by Mr. Stark grabbing his upper arm and tugging Peter down into a sitting position next to him.</p><p>“You know what, Pete?” Mr. Stark puts an arm around Peter’s shoulders and pulls him a little closer. “I think that’s a really good idea. And if you’re okay to share this spot with me...I feel like May and Pepper would have really liked each other. It’s nice to think about them being together.”</p><p>Peter feels like he’s going to cry again. “You know, I kinda thought the same thing.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They fuck up the garden. At first the little seedlings grow robustly, almost seeming to sprout before their very eyes, and then the tiny little leaves start to unfurl, and then all of a sudden everything goes yellow and dies almost overnight.</p><p>“You boys are smothering those poor plants,” the nice old lady at the home and garden store says. “Water the plants when they need watering, not every time it strikes your fancy. Don’t over-fertilize. It’s okay, they’re plants, they know what to do without your meddling.”</p><p>They’re back in a few weeks. “I suppose now you’re not watering them enough,” the lady says, casting a critical eye at the withered tomato sapling Peter has brought for diagnosis.</p><p>“Well,” she sighs the next time, while Mr. Stark swipes through an absurdly large album of garden pictures on his StarkPhone, “Why didn’t you show me this before, sweetie? That’s not nearly enough sun. Move your garden a few feet over – yes, right there – and I bet it’ll take next time.”</p><p>“Pests,” she says kindly two weeks later. “Not your fault this time, honey.” She eyes Morgan, who is strapped to Peter’s back, as if she can’t quite believe they’ve kept a baby alive for nearly a year. “Here, try these – yes, in this aisle here – so you don’t have to resort to those nasty pesticides.”</p><p>Peter and Mr. Stark are rewarded when the first tomato comes in. It’s kind of puny and scrappy, but it’s alive, which is amazing. “I guess life, uh, finds a way,” Mr. Stark says, sending Peter into fits of laughter.</p><p>Peter can’t bring himself to kill their shitty little tomato, so they let it hang on for a while as the other veggies start to come in. Their first harvest is kind of sad but also kind of <em>awesome </em>and they just eat the veggies raw after washing them.</p><p>As the weeks flow by Peter learns to be a bit more careful about what he says around Mr. Stark. Since that day, the day they’d first driven into town for gardening supplies, Mr. Stark has been on a weird kick where he’s started to just bring random stuff home. It takes Peter a while to realize that they’re things for <em>him </em>and are ofen items he’s mentioned only in passing. Two days after he makes a comment about building the Lego Death Star with Ned, a box of Lego mysteriously appears in the living room. Mr. Stark claims they’ve always had it, Peter just hasn’t noticed, it’s for when Morgan is older but Peter is welcome to use them whenever he wants, so on and so forth. Or there’s the time Peter spends an afternoon reading a crappy old book of ghost stories he’d found tucked away into the corner of the bookshelf, and Mr. Stark asks him if he’s enjoying the book, and Peter says “Yeah it’s cool” and then suddenly more ghost story books appear on the shelf and Mr. Stark has somehow obtained an uncut version of <em>The Exorcist </em>and he invites Peter to watch it with him, you know, if that’s Peter’s thing, et cetera.</p><p>It all comes to a head when Mr. Stark calls him outside one day. Peter hoists Morgan up into his arms, kissing her downy little head. “What does your dad want, huh?”</p><p>“Deh deh deh,” Morgan says, leaning in to give him a slobbery open-mouthed kiss. It’s something she started doing a couple weeks ago and it’s so cute Peter feels like he’s just going to straight up <em>die </em>from the cuteness, so of course he has to take a minute to give her a bunch of slobbery kisses right back, until he hears Mr. Stark yell for him again.</p><p>“Okay, okay!” Peter yells back. “Something better be on fire out there.”</p><p>There is no fire. There is, however, an alpaca.</p><p>Just...standing there. Eating lettuce from the garden.</p><p>Peter blinks.</p><p>The alpaca is still there.</p><p>“Um,” he says. “There’s an alpaca in the garden, Mr. Stark.”</p><p>“I know,” Mr. Stark says. “His name is Gerald.”</p><p>“Gerald,” Peter says faintly. Then it dawns on him. “Mr. Stark. Is Gerald...your alpaca?”</p><p>“Well,” Mr. Stark says, “technically, he’s your alpaca. Early birthday present. You said you wanted one.”</p><p>It takes Peter a full minute to process this, and scan back a couple months in his memory. He blinks. “Oh. Yeah. I was joking.”</p><p>Gerald snorts.</p><p>Peter had been joking, but it doesn’t matter. A strange feeling washes over him.</p><p>“Wow. I <em>love </em>Gerald,” he says in wonder. “I really love him.”</p><p>“Are you crying?” Mr. Stark says, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow.</p><p>“Yes. A little. He’s just...he’s like, <em>crazy </em>fluffy.”</p><p>“That he is,” Mr. Stark says. “Makes up for his asshole personality. Want to pet him? Give me the baby so he doesn’t bite her head off.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter breathes, handing Morgan over. He approaches Gerald slowly, palm outstretched. Gerald glares at him but holds his ground.</p><p>“Hey, boy,” Peter says soothingly. “It’s okay. I’m Peter. Hi, Gerald.”</p><p>“Deh, deh, deh,” Morgan chimes in from somewhere behind him. “Deh ah.”</p><p>“No, Morguna, hands to yourself. That’s Pete’s alpaca. And he eats babies for lunch.”</p><p>“Deh! Deh ah.”</p><p>Peter manages to close the gap between them and slowly, slowly reaches his hand out. It practically sinks into Gerald’s mass of fleece, which is <em>even fluffier than he could have imagined. </em>Gerald tolerates this and makes a clucking noise, which sounds oddly like a chicken, before lowering his head to bump it against Peter’s shoulder.</p><p>“Wow, look at you, kid. You’re the llama whisperer.”</p><p>“Alpaca,” Peter corrects absently, stroking Gerald’s side.</p><p>“I know that. I bought him.”</p><p>“Good boy, Gerald.” Peter buries his face into the alpaca’s neck. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. This is, like, the best present <em>ever</em>.”</p><p>“I made you a multimillion dollar top-of-the-line Stark tech suit,” Mr. Stark says. “You’re telling me all it takes to make you happy is a farm animal I got for free because someone in town was desperately trying to offload him?”</p><p>“What?” Peter frowns into Gerald’s fleece. “I thought you said you bought him.”</p><p>“Yeeeeah. Well, I say a lot of things.”</p><p>“Whatever, their loss,” Peter murmurs. “Gerald is a precious angel and they were stupid to get rid of him.”</p><p>“That’s the spirit.” Mr. Stark waits for Peter to detach from the alpaca, and then waves towards the back of the cabin. “I didn’t exactly think this through, but I’m thinking it through as we speak, and my brain is telling me Gerald probably needs...a dog house? I don’t know, whatever alpacas live in. A stable. Some kind of structure with a roof so he doesn’t get rained on. You in to help me build a llama stable, kid?”</p><p>Peter can’t help it. He launches himself at Mr. Stark and wraps his arms around both him and Morgan. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he says, tearing up a little. “I’m so happy. Gerald is <em>the best. </em>I love him. Thank you.”</p><p>“Oh, uh,” Mr. Stark says, but he puts his free arm around Peter and pats him awkwardly on the back. “Okay, hugging. Very cool.”</p><p>“Deh ah,” Morgan agrees. “Deh, deh, deh ad. Deh ad.”</p><p>“You like Gerald too, huh?” Mr. Stark says, as Morgan starts to wiggle and strain her little arms towards the alpaca. “I know. We love Gerald. He’s a hit around here. You kids remember whose genius brain was behind this. Tony Stark, deliverer of Gerald the Beloved. I am now immune from any and all parenting criticism for the rest of time.”</p><p>“Sure,” Peter snorts, finally freeing Mr. Stark from the hug. He reaches for Morgan, but she’s having none of it, waving her arms with increasing frustration.</p><p>“Deh ad, deh dah, dehad.”</p><p>“You’re too little, mango butt,” Peter says patiently. “You can play with Gerald when you’re a bit older, okay?”</p><p>“What did I say about the weird food nicknames-”</p><p>“Derald,” Morgan says.</p><p>There’s a pause. A long, deathly quiet pause.</p><p>“Derald!” she squeals again, pointing at the alpaca.</p><p>“Oh, <em>seriously?</em>” Mr. Stark groans.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Morgan starts walking two weeks later, a moment marked by both smiles and tears, and when Mr. Stark excuses himself shortly afterwards Peter knows he’s going to visit Pepper and tell her all about it.</p><p>Peter had thought the babyproofing was a little excessive when Morgan had started crawling in earnest, but Mr. Stark gets even more intense after those first few steps. Sometimes Peter feels like he’s living in a padded asylum, and he keeps forgetting about the baby gates and walking right into them. After he accidentally mangles the fourth one with his super strength Mr. Stark threatens to start making them out of vibranium.</p><p>It’s not really the lab or Peter’s room or the kitchen they have to worry about. Morgan’s favourite thing to do is stumble on unsteady legs towards any door or window left open for a breeze and push herself through, screaming “Derald! Derald!” until either Peter or Mr. Stark apprehends her. After a while they have to house-arrest the baby. It’s equally miserable for all of them in the midsummer heat, until Peter comes up with a solution.</p><p>“You want to <em>leash </em>my <em>child? </em>” Mr. Stark says, rubbing at his goatee. “Is that legal?”</p><p>“Yes,” Peter insists. “I had a leash as a kid. Or else I’d like, run off in the mall or dart into traffic. Ben said the leash was more for his sanity than anything. It was cute, it was attached to a little backpack shaped like a monkey.”</p><p>“Okay.” Mr. Stark shrugs. “Sounds legit.”</p><p>So they let Morgan toddle around outside for a little while every day, leashed to the front porch, where she’s free to holler at Gerald to her heart’s content. Gerald takes this well in stride, mostly ignoring her in favour of destroying Peter’s garden. Peter and Mr. Stark start the project of building Gerald a stable and an enclosure.</p><p>“I bet we could build a rainwater filtration system that just feeds directly into his trough.”</p><p>“Wow, kid, all that just to avoid topping it up every morning? I like it. Just lazy enough to be brilliant.”</p><p>“Isn’t that the whole point of engineering?”</p><p>Mr. Stark stops hammering and looks at him with a really weird smile. Like he’s going to cry or something. Peter blushes and ducks his head.</p><p>Peter really likes building stuff with Mr. Stark. After the whole Coney Island debacle he’d been up to the compound a couple of times and Mr. Stark had shown him the lab, and he’d even let Peter work on the Spider-Suit a little. It had been <em>super fucking awesome </em>and everything, from the mind-blowing tech to Mr. Stark’s limitless enthusiasm for upgrades to the suit, but now Peter’s realizing – as they hammer together a wooden feed bin for an alpaca – that the best part is just...this. Elbow to elbow with Mr. Stark, slipping easily between banter and brainstorming, taking occasional breaks to play with Morgan or when they remember that they have to eat sometime.</p><p>“Any suggestions for a brilliantly lazy way to deal with llama poop?” Mr. Stark asks, jolting Peter out of his thoughts.</p><p>“You know, Gerald’s going to get a complex if you keep calling him a llama,” Peter scolds. He pauses, chewing his lip. “I dunno. We could train him to poop in a compost bin.”</p><p>“I like it. Do you know anything about alpaca training?”</p><p>“No, but Google probably does.”</p><p>“Derald, Derald,” they can hear Morgan singing a few feet away. “Deeeraaaallld.”</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” Mr. Stark says. “When is that kid going to acknowledge anyone other than that god damned llama?”</p><p>Morgan has expanded her vocabulary a little bit to include ‘teese’ for ‘cheese’ and ‘go’ for when she wants someone to pick her up and take her somewhere. She often uses these three words in combination, like ‘Go Derald teese’ for ‘let’s bring some cheese out to Gerald,’ or ‘Teese! Go Derald,’ which they learned the hard way has an entirely different meaning: ‘The cheese is only for me and <em>then </em>we go visit Gerald.’</p><p>“Dada, dada, dada. Dad. Daddy,” Mr. Stark says, leaning down and getting right in Morgan’s face. “Come on baby. Dada.”</p><p>“Go,” Morgan says offhandedly, lifting her arms. “Go, go.”</p><p>Mr. Stark picks her up obligingly and brings her over to Peter, who immediately starts making grabby hands. “Hey, stop that,” Mr. Stark says. “God, you are <em>such </em>a baby hog. It’s my turn.” He kisses the top of Morgan’s head and dances her around, earning him a giant grin that shows off her two brand-new teeth.</p><p>Peter watches them with a bittersweet sort of feeling - something profoundly strange and unnameable, like grief and longing and happiness and tenderness all mixed up together in his chest. Ben used to do stuff like this when he was little - they would have disco dance parties, blaring May's old records and leaping around the living room floor, yelling along to the Bee Gees and Supermax until they collapsed laughing on the couch. Peter thinks his mom and dad must have done this kind of thing too, when he was too small to remember. The thought is kind of comforting.</p><p>Mr. Stark looks over him and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, quit looking like a kicked puppy because I called you out on being a Morgan monopolizer. Come dance.”</p><p>“What?” Peter laughs, but Mr. Stark is already pulling him into an extremely clumsy and awkward waltz with Morgan sandwiched between them.</p><p>“<em>When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie,</em>” Mr. Stark sings out dramatically, twirling Peter.</p><p>“Stoppit,” Peter says, but has no real heat behind it because he can’t seem to stop laughing. Morgan is shrieking with giggles.</p><p>Mr. Stark has totally lost track of the lyrics and is now making up his own as he waltzes them both out into the garden. “When it swims on a reef and has two sets of teeth, that’s a moray! When the jaws open wide and there’s more jaws inside...” He pauses dramatically and signals to Peter, then they yell together “THAT’S A MORAY!”</p><p>
  <em>That’s amore.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Hey, May,” Peter says, lying on his stomach on the grass. “I killed the marigolds somehow, but some of the snap peas started flowering and it’s really pretty, so I hope you’ll like these instead.” He’s arranged the snap pea flowers in a clumsy wreath. May had really loved flower wreaths. It was pretty much the only reason she let him make her a SnapChat account. Peter wishes he’d saved every single ridiculous flower crown Snap she’d sent him – the ones of her mugging with her co-workers in scrubs, dancing around while vacuuming, pointing at the dirty dishes Peter hadn’t done with an exaggerated frown.</p><p>“I gotta find out what kind of flowers you like, Ms. Potts,” Peter continues, shifting to look at the other stone sitting in the grass. “It’s kinda rude of me to just assume you like the same things May does. I brought, um, wild bergamot. I think. It’s kind of hard to tell from the pictures I found on Google. But it smells kinda minty and even though we only met a couple times, it reminds me of you. Is that weird? Sorry if it’s weird.”</p><p>There are no other flowers nestled at the foot of the stone, but Mr. Stark has left a couple of fancy-looking little paper bags tied with cotton strings. Peter leans over to inspect them and is hit with a really nice smell. Tea.</p><p>“Kind of makes sense that you’re a tea drinker,” Peter muses. “May is too. Mr. Stark was right, you guys have a lot in common.”</p><p>He rolls back over to face May’s stone. “So, um, things are good. I’m trying to potty train Gerald. He spat in my face. I still love him though. I just wish Tony wouldn’t call him an asshole. He’s probably acting out because his feelings are hurt. Between Tony calling him a llama and an asshole, I bet he has, like, a full-on identity crisis. You know who else has an identity crisis? Me.” Peter laughs. “I’m kidding, I’m being dramatic. Kind of. If you were here you’d tell me to quit being a drama queen and then you’d make us popcorn and force me to cuddle and I’d tell you all about it. But if I say stuff like that to Tony he kind of...freaks out? I don’t know. It’s not like I feel like I can’t tell him things. He just...worries a lot, I guess. It’s sort of nice. But I miss you so, so much.”</p><p>Peter rests his chin on his arms, letting the sunshine warm his back for a few minutes. He breathes in the scent of the snap peas, the bergamot, the tea, and the grass. May would have loved it here.</p><p>“Sometimes I catch myself feeling really happy.”</p><p>Peter stops, clamps his mouth shut, like he can take the words back. Then he starts again. “I mean. It’s not like I don’t think about you and Ben every single day. I do.” He sighs. “What would you say right now, May? I bet it would be something like, ‘Just be happy, you doofus, quit overthinking it.’ Or, like, ‘Baby, I love you more than anything and I want you to be happy.’ I know that. I <em>know</em> you wouldn’t be pissed off about it. But <em>I’m </em>pissed off, you see? It just makes me so mad that I can be happy when you and Ben are gone. It’s like if I stop being angry about it then I’m accepting that it’s forever and there’s nothing I can do. Then what? Just...the rest of my life, without you guys?”</p><p><em>Yeah, baby, </em>he hears May say in his head. <em>The whole rest of your life. I know it’s hard and I wish I could be there with you, but I don’t want you to miss out, you hear me?</em></p><p>“Well then come back,” Peter argues against the imaginary May, glaring at the stone. “I <em>am </em>missing out. Don’t you get that? It’s not the same without you.”</p><p>
  <em>You know I can’t come back, sweetheart.</em>
</p><p>“That sucks. It just really...” Peter grits his teeth. His fists clench. “It was really shitty of you to leave, you know that? Now I don’t have anyone left.”</p><p>
  <em>You have Tony. He’d better look out for my baby. I’m trusting him.</em>
</p><p>Maybe the real May’s tone wouldn’t have been so gentle, so endlessly kind and patient. Maybe the real May would have chewed him out for implying that she’d left him on purpose. The real May certainly hadn’t trusted Tony Stark, of all people.</p><p><em>But maybe</em>, another voice says in Peter’s head – his own this time – <em>Maybe she would have, if she’d had time to get to know him.</em></p><p>Maybe, maybe, maybe.</p><p>Peter lays there on his stomach for a long time, his eyes tracing the stone and the crooked lettering and the pale white flowers, but no answers come.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi beauties! Thanks for sticking around for another chapter~ I'm so happy you're all reading and enjoying this, and thank you for all the lovely feedback! Until next time. Also feel free to come yell at me at sturionic.tumblr.com!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Never thought I'd see you smile again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So...I wrote the first section of this chapter months ago, then the pandemic hit and I just sat on it. For AGES, debating whether to re-write it or not. I decided not to because I think the way it panned out was important to the story, but I'll just give a warning here:</p><p>**The first section of the chapter deals with Peter getting sick and Tony flipping his shit about it. If you're tired of virus stuff and don't want to read about illness, skip to the paragraph starting with "Once" - it's right after a section break. You don't miss a lot plot-wise, just some character development.**</p><p>Enjoy, my loves, with my sincere thanks for your patience and my hope that at least some of you are still reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony stands in the doorway to Peter’s room at the profoundly obnoxious hour of seven in the morning, with a very excited Morgan balanced in his arms. He eyes the lump under the covers and clears his throat.</p><p>“Happy birthday to you,” he sings, and nudges Morgan.</p><p>“Ah beh beh, go go!” she squeals along, grabbing at her little party hat and then at the one on Tony’s head.</p><p>“Happy birthday, happy birthday-”</p><p>“Go! No, no. Derald? Dah!” Morgan yells over him.</p><p>“Happy birthday to you,” Tony finishes, glaring at his daughter. “No, it’s not Derald time, it’s Peter time.”</p><p>“No!” Morgan agrees joyfully. She claps her hands in glee. Tony turns back to Peter and raises his eyebrows.</p><p>“Really, kid? Nothing? We practiced this. I know Morgan went a bit off-script, but her heart was in the right place.”</p><p>The lump of blankets remains silent and still. Tony feels a strange sinking in his stomach. He gingerly steps toward the bed.</p><p>“Pete? You in there?”</p><p>When there’s no response, Tony drops to his knees and reaches for Peter. He finds the kid’s thin shoulder and starts shaking. “Peter. Hey. <em>Hey</em>.” Panic floods his chest as the force of the movement sends Peter flopping limply onto his back. The kid’s face is ashen. “Pete, you need to wake up. Answer me, <em>please</em>.”</p><p>Tears gather in Morgan’s eyes and she starts to hiccup, clearly distressed by her father’s sharp tone. Tony sets her down on the floor and reaches a shaky hand out towards the pulse point just under Peter’s jaw.</p><p>“Huh?” Peter groans in a thick, scratchy voice.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Tony gasps, falling back heavily onto his rear. He draws his knees up to his chin and raises a hand to his face, breathing raggedly. “Fuck. You – you scared the <em>hell </em>-” He can’t finish the sentence. His heart is beating too fast. He needs to calm down. Morgan crawls into his lap, sobbing and reaching her arms out to be held.</p><p>“I’m sorry, baby,” Tony murmurs, taking a deep pull of air to ground himself as he gathers Morgan to his chest. “I’m sorry. It’s okay.”</p><p>It takes him a moment of deep breathing to work up the nerve to approach the bed again. He puts Morgan back on the floor with a kiss and lifts the covers off Peter entirely so he can asses the situation.</p><p>Peter is ghastly pale, his face and neck covered in sweat. His eyes are closed, but he’s breathing – shallow, congested-sounding breaths. Tony reaches a hand over to rest the back against Peter’s forehead.</p><p>“Oh, kiddo,” he sighs. “You’re burning up.”</p><p>Peter grabs weakly at the blankets Tony has just peeled off. “Cold,” he mutters.</p><p>Tony is at a total loss. His brain is in pieces and he can’t remember what you’re supposed to do with a sick person. Do you warm them up? Cool them down? Give them water? Water. That sounds like a good idea.</p><p>“I’m going to get you some water,” Tony announces uselessly. Peter doesn’t answer as he stumbles out the door. Morgan elects to stay in Peter’s room and jabber at his prone form, which is just as well because Tony only makes it as far as the bathroom before crumpling into a heap on the floor. The cool tile against his cheek is grounding but it also makes something come apart in his chest and before he can really understand what’s happening there are tears slipping down his nose and pooling under his jaw.</p><p>He fumbles in his pocket for his phone.</p><p>“Mr. Stark?”</p><p>“Dr. Cho,” Tony says, trying his damndest to keep the shake out of his voice.</p><p>“Are you alright? What’s going on?”</p><p>Clearly that’s not working out for him very well, so he just lets himself sound pathetic as he croaks, “There’s something wrong with Peter.”</p><p>“Are you in need of emergency assistance?” Helen’s tone is cool and professional, which Tony appreciates. It helps the whirling static in his brain slow down just a bit.</p><p>“Um, no. I don’t think so. He’s got...some kind of...I don’t know. A flu? He looks fucking terrible. Like he’s been through a wood chipper. Sorry, that was graphic. Just to be clear he’s not bleeding anywhere. That I know of.”</p><p>“Okay, Mr. Stark. Does he have a fever? Is he sweating? Congested? Stomach ache?”</p><p>“All of the above. Wait, I don’t know about the stomach. Probably. Morgan and I were sick a couple days ago and Pete was looking after us but it was just...we just had a little cold. This is like full-on ebola. Where would he have gotten ebola? We live in the middle of fucking nowhere.”</p><p>“Tony, breathe.” The professionalism has relaxed a little bit now that Helen’s established Peter probably isn’t in mortal danger. Her voice gains a little tinge of warmth. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”</p><p>“We’re not talking about me,” Tony says. “We’re talking about Peter.”</p><p>“Are you crying?”</p><p>Tony sighs. “Yes.”</p><p>“Take a deep breath for me, alright? In...hold for three...out. Yes, you’re doing great. One more time.”</p><p>As much as Tony hates to admit it, the breathing exercise helps. Soon he’s able to peel himself off the bathroom floor. “What the hell was that? What is wrong with me?” he mutters. He can still faintly hear Morgan babbling from the other room.</p><p>“I don’t think I have to explain PTSD to you yet again, Mr. Stark,” Helen says, sounding vaguely amused. “Anyways, Peter will be fine. When he was out for a couple of weeks, Dr. Banner and I took the liberty of studying his DNA, immune system and medical records. The gist of it is that Peter doesn’t get sick very often anymore. But when he does, it’s going to look a bit more intense than a regular illness. When a virus is resilient and adaptable enough to latch on to his very unique cells, it’s tougher to get rid of. Luckily Peter’s healing factor is incredible – possibly even beyond what we’ve measured in Steve Rogers – so he’s perfectly capable of fighting it off himself.”</p><p>Tony feels equal parts fascinated and disturbed. Not only by the kid’s freaky DNA but by the fact that it had occurred to Bruce and Helen to <em>study </em>him while he was just...lying there, recently orphaned and dead to the world.</p><p>“I see. So do I...I don’t know, make him soup?”</p><p>“Soup is a good idea,” Helen agrees. “Keep him hydrated – Gatorade would be great if you have it – make sure he’s not sitting in his own sweat too much – all the standard care for a flu applies here. If he’s really miserable you can use the enhanced-strength painkillers Bruce sent along, but they will probably make him a bit loopy.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony sighs. “Uh...thanks, Dr. Cho.”</p><p>“It’s not a problem, Mr. Stark.” Helen pauses. “Rogers and Romanoff have started a kind of...therapy group, for people dealing with various types of trauma. I’m not going to press this point, but I do want to let you know that they meet two Wednesdays a month and many have found it helpful.”</p><p>“Got it,” Tony says sourly. “Noted. Committed to my very impressive memory. Thanks for the info. Great catching up.” He punches the ‘end call’ button, splashes his face with water, and makes his way back to Peter’s room.</p><p>“Let’s relocate,” he says as he strides through the door, in a cheerful voice that sounds fake even to him. “This bed is gross. The couch downstairs would be much nicer, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Mmkay,” Peter rasps. He makes a valiant effort to sit up and promptly falls out of bed, hitting the floor with a resounding <em>thump.</em></p><p>“Okay,” Tony says, fighting to steady his breathing. “So walking isn’t really your thing right now. I get that. Understandable. Hey, would you stay put for a minute while I park the baby?” He laughs weakly at his own joke and picks Morgan up.</p><p>“No,” she pouts, reaching for Peter.</p><p>“Oh, I know, you little goblin,” Tony croons as he hurries down the stairs. “Peter lying totally helpless on the floor is like baby crack, isn’t it? You can climb on him and pull on his ears a little later. I promise.”</p><p>“Noooo,” Morgan moans, her voice dangerously whiny.</p><p>“How about we go see Gerald?” Tony pleads. The last thing he needs is a screaming baby <em>and</em> a nearly-comatose teenager.</p><p>“Derald?” Morgan asks suspiciously, cocking her head. (She looks so much like her mother in that moment that it nearly takes Tony’s breath away.)</p><p>“Yes, Derald.” Tony buckles her into the monkey backpack and opens the front door. “Go, be free, little llama fanatic.”</p><p>Morgan takes off at a brisk waddle, squealing with joy. Tony follows her until she reaches the fence of Gerald’s enclosure and then picks up the end of the leash trailing behind her. He quickly ties the leash to a post and looks sternly at Gerald. “Do not bite the baby. Do you hear me? Do not spit at the baby. Do not fart on the baby. You put one hoof out of line and I’m going to skin you and make you into a very fluffy coat that I will wear for the rest of my days and into my grave.”</p><p>Gerald looks blankly at Tony, chewing on a hunk of grass, then turns and wanders away with total disinterest. “Derald!” Morgan screams after him.</p><p>Feeling more than a little conflicted at letting a dickhead alpaca babysit his eleven-month-old daughter, Tony sprints back into the house and up the stairs. Peter is still exactly where Tony left him. Tony kneels down and resists the urge to check his pulse.</p><p>“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he says, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Come on, you’re sweaty and gross. Let’s get you something clean to wear.”</p><p>Peter barely acknowledges him, but does his best to cooperate as Tony helps him swap out his drenched t-shirt and sweats for fresh ones. Tony examines him critically. “I feel like stairs are a little beyond you. Need a lift, kid?”</p><p>“Uh huh,” Peter ‘I Can Do Everything Myself and Refuse to Acknowledge I’m a Legal Minor’ Parker mumbles.</p><p>“Wow. You really aren’t feeling good, huh.”</p><p>“Uh-uh,” Peter groans. He lifts his arms towards Tony. The gesture is so blindly trusting – so like something Morgan would do – that Tony suddenly feels a lump in his throat. He shakes his head and clears it with a cough as he heaves Peter’s limp body off the floor. Peter is surprisingly heavy for someone so skinny. Must be all that freaky mutant muscle crammed into his wiry frame. Tony ponders on that as he carefully makes his way down the stairs.</p><p>“This is your stop,” he grunts, dumping Peter unceremoniously on the couch. “I’m going to go get some water and you’re going to drink all of it, capisce?”</p><p>After Tony’s satisfied that Peter is at least sort-of hydrated, he goes out to check on Morgan. She’s sitting on her butt with her little face stuck through a gap between fence planks, watching Gerald gorge himself on grass. “Okay, you strange child,” he says, lifting her into his arms. “You ready to go back in?”</p><p>“Teese,” Morgan says, leaning her head amiably against his chest.</p><p>“I wasn’t opening up negotiations, but you make a compelling argument.”</p><p>Tony sets Morgan in her pack-and-play with more toys than she could possibly play with and a small plastic bowl filled with pieces of cubed cheese as a bribe, then swings by the freezer to grab a juice pop and a cool damp cloth before going back to check on Peter.</p><p>“Hey, buddy,” he says, kneeling down so that he’s Peter’s eye level. “Think you can stomach one of these?”</p><p>“Yes please,” Peter rasps, in his first coherent sentence all morning. Tony helps him sit up and drapes the cloth over the back of his neck as he nibbles at the juice pop.</p><p>“So, let’s go through the symptom checklist,” Tony says, peering at his StarkPhone. He scrolls through Helen’s texts, all sent shortly after their phone call. The woman is nothing if not thorough. “Fever, chills, nausea, congestion, headache, sore throat...” Tony frowns as Peter nods his head with each symptom. “Jesus, kid, this virus is kicking your ass.”</p><p>“Should go,” Peter mumbles, his eyelids drooping.</p><p>“You wanna go somewhere? Are you crazy?”</p><p>“No, you. You and Morgan.” Peter coughs. “Don’t want you to get sick.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck off with that,” Tony says sharply. “Why on earth do you think I’d leave my sick kid alone? What do you take me for?”</p><p>“What?” Peter says shakily.</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere.” Tony tries to make his tone a little gentler. “Anyways, we can’t catch whatever the hell this virus is. It’s mutated to attach to your specific cells, so unless there are any other half-spider abominations lurking around, this thing is pretty much custom-made just for you.” He shows Peter the text from Helen explaining in more detail. Peter squints at it for a moment and then sighs and drops back against the couch.</p><p>They sit there side-by-side in silence for a moment before Tony clears his throat and stands up. “I’m gonna go get some soup going,” he announces. Peter makes a vaguely queasy face. “No? We’re not up for soup? Okay, broth then. Don’t make that face again. Broth is the least offensive thing ever. Try one bite and if you hate it I’ll piss off and quit annoying you.”</p><p>Tony reflects as he heats up a pot of broth that he’s had the same exchange nearly word-for-word with Morgan as he tried to convince her to give pureed sweet potato a chance. He tries not to dwell too hard on the feeling that realization gives him, turning his attention instead to polishing off the last dirty dishes remaining in the sink.</p><p>Peter gamely manages about five spoonfuls of broth before handing the bowl back to Tony with a hoarse ‘thank-you.’ He curls up on the cushions but doesn’t stretch out his gangly limbs like he usually does – so that a very conspicuous half of the couch is left empty.</p><p>With a tightening in his stomach Tony thinks back to a pale thin hand, fingers fluttering weakly, and how he hadn’t even thought about what that had meant until it had been too late.</p><p>“Hey,” he says casually. “What would you say to watching something together? You’ve been trying to get me into Firefly for months, yeah? Now’s your chance. It’s your birthday <em>and </em>you’re sick, I’m pretty sure that means you can ask for just about anything.”</p><p>Peter peers at him over his shoulder, eyes bleary, hair sticking up every which-way. “You choose,” he says shyly.</p><p><em>Well, that’s just damned cute. </em>Out of nowhere Tony’s chest surges with an almost overwhelming warmth. He knows that what he just said is true, but that it’s also true every day. Peter could ask for anything and he’d do everything in his power to make it happen.</p><p>“Firefly it is,” he says gruffly. “I’ll, uh, be right back with the gremlin. I think it’s high time we started her science-fiction education.”</p><p>Morgan has burned off enough of her morning energy that Tony feels comfortable releasing her from her baby jail to let her play quietly on the floor. She happily starts a very involved game of “dump all my toys in a bucket, knock the bucket over, repeat times a million” while Tony cues up the first episode. He makes himself comfortable on the couch and glances over at Peter.</p><p>“Well then, get over here,” he says, poking Peter’s leg.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You’re sick and miserable and you want human contact. You’re not subtle at all, Parker. Now get over here and don’t make it weird.” Tony snaps his fingers. “Chop chop. Let’s go.”</p><p>Peter offers no further resistance and promptly gets directly into Tony’s personal space, dropping his head onto Tony’s chest and burrowing in like a tick. Tony drapes a knitted afghan over both of them and lets his arm fall loosely around Peter’s shoulders.</p><p>“Better?” he says, pinching Peter lightly on the arm.</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter slurs without a hint of self-consciousness. He’s out in approximately five minutes, and a few more minutes after that Morgan curls right up on the floor at Tony’s feet like a puppy with her little butt in the air. She’s softly snoring moments later. Tony briefly considers moving her – but if he’s learned anything in the past eleven months it’s “don’t wake the baby.”</p><p>He lets the sleeping beasts lie and settles in for a one-man Firefly marathon.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tony wakes up on a beach. It’s warm, <em>so </em>warm, and Morgan is playing in the waves. There’s someone else with her. A little kid, maybe seven, skinny with thick round glasses. His salt-spray curls fly every which way as he holds each of Morgan’s hands, keeping her steady. She shrieks every time a wave comes up to engulf her chubby little legs.</p><p>“Be careful, babies,” a laughing voice calls from behind him. An achingly familiar voice. Tony’s heart leaps.</p><p>The little boy looks up, all freckles and gap-toothed grin. “We are!”</p><p>Tony turns around. He can’t see her. “Pep,” he calls shakily. “Where are you, honey?”</p><p>“Keep an eye on the kids, sweetheart,” she says from somewhere close to his ear.</p><p>“Mr. Stark?” the boy says.</p><p>“Wait. Pepper. Pepper? <em>Pepper</em>-”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Tony!”</p><p>He wakes up again just in time for Peter to throw up all over both of them.</p><p>“Fuck,” Peter moans, “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Tony blinks a few times as his brain catches up to the situation. He looks down at himself, back up at Peter, and then down at a curious Morgan who is industriously trying to climb up onto the couch.</p><p>“Oh,” he says. “Well, that’s okay.”</p><p>It’s gross and it’s horrible and a scarlet-faced Peter looks like he’s going to die of shame if this hell flu doesn’t kill him first, but it’s also okay.</p><p>“Hey, monkey,” Tony says to Morgan, gently pushing her back down with his foot. “Stand down. You really don’t wanna be up here.” He sighs and drops his head back against the couch, taking a moment to breathe and think through the next thirty seconds, when he hears a little voice say: “Daddy.”</p><p>Tony sits bolt upright. He looks over at Peter, who looks back at him with wide eyes. Peter breaks into a huge grin and they both look at Morgan.</p><p>“What did you say?” Tony asks. Morgan frowns and reaches up towards them.</p><p>“<em>Daddy</em>,” she says insistently.</p><p>Tony can’t help it. He starts to laugh. In this moment, covered in puke, his hair sticking up every which way, one kid tangled up in a blanket burrito next to him and the other one sitting on his feet pouting, he’s never felt more like a dad. It’s the weirdest thing, and the nicest, and gross and funny and totally surreal. Peter starts laughing too, and then Morgan even though she has no idea what’s going on.</p><p>“Finally. Suck on <em>that</em>, Gerald,” Tony chuckles, hauling himself up from the couch. “Pete, give me your shirt. I think you missed the couch.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Peter says, but he’s still laughing as he shucks his vomit-covered t-shirt and hands it to Tony.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Once Peter’s managed a shower and Morgan’s been fed and changed, Tony hauls them all outside for some fresh evening air. He sets Peter up on the porch swing, wrapped in a knitted afghan with a mug full of honey lemon water, where he can watch as Tony and Morgan poke around in the garden and collect wildflowers.</p><p>“That’s a bean. Can you say bean?”</p><p>“Eeb, eeb.”</p><p>“Close enough. Hey, let’s try your new word again. Who am I?” Tony points to himself.</p><p>Morgan squints. “Derald?”</p><p>“Daddy,” Tony says.</p><p>“Daddy!” Morgan’s face lights up and she wanders off to poke at a clump of zucchini, muttering “Daddy, daddy” to herself as she goes. Tony feels like his heart is going to explode. Someone should put a warning sticker on babies: ‘May cause spontaneous cardiac detonation.’</p><p>They bring Peter a bouquet of common garden weeds, hand-picked by Morgan. Tony lifts her into Peter’s lap so that she can show him each one, shoving them directly in his face as if trying to get him to eat them.</p><p>“Beh beh, ah,” she explains intently. “Bububuh.”</p><p>“Wow, you’re kidding,” Peter replies, carefully examining the dandelion she’s trying to push up his nose. “That’s crazy, Morgan!”</p><p>“Yeh! Ah yeh!” Morgan squeals, reaching up to give him a slobbery baby kiss.</p><p>Tony sits down on the porch swing next to Peter and reaches over to tuck the afghan a little tighter around the kid’s shoulders. There’s no need, really; it’s a gorgeous summer evening and warm enough to be out in a t-shirt. Whatever. The kid still looks peaky as all hell. So sue him.</p><p>The three of them swing peacefully for a while as the sky melts from a riot of purple and orange to an inky blue.</p><p>“Hey, Tony,” the kid says carefully. “There’s something I kinda want to talk to you about.”</p><p>“Actually,” Tony says, “there’s something I want to talk to you about, too.”</p><p>“Me first,” Peter replies, cuddling a sleeping Morgan close to his chest like one would with a teddy bear or security blanket.</p><p>Tony raises an eyebrow. “Out with it then, kid.”</p><p>“I want to go back to school.”</p><p>Tony sits up straight and tucks one leg underneath him so that he can face Peter squarely. “Really? You do?” He tries to sound nonchalant, with mixed success.</p><p>“Um, yeah.” Peter looks uncomfortable. “I know you’re really keen on it, so I checked out some options online. It turns out Mayfield High has started this program where you, like, go in two days a week and do the rest online. A lot of rural schools are doing it so that students can still spend time at home helping out their families.”</p><p>“Wait, wait, slow down,” Tony says, holding his hands up. “You’re not just doing this because you think I want it, are you? And why Mayfield – what about Midtown Tech?”</p><p>“No, I want to,” Peter says. “I think it’ll be good to...I don’t know, meet some kids my own age.” He frowns. “Midtown’s too far. Mayfield High is fine.”</p><p>“Kid,” Tony says, leaning forward and resting a hand on Peter’s knee. “If you want to go to Midtown, we’ll make it happen. I’ll drive you every day. Or you can stay with one of the Avengers during the week and come back home for weekends. We can...we can move back to the city. I still own a penthouse in Manhattan.”</p><p>Peter’s eyes fill with tears. “Thank you. Thank you, but I can’t. It’s just...it won’t be the same, Tony. Not without Ned. I can’t.”</p><p>“Oh, Pete,” Tony sighs, squeezing Peter’s leg. “I get it. It’s okay. Mayfield High it is.”</p><p>He’s equal measures sad and relieved. He knows the kid <em>loved </em>Midtown Tech, threw himself into every club and extracurricular he could get his hands on, thrived on the advanced curriculum. It cuts him right to the core to think about Peter missing out on all of that. But the relief is also undeniable, relief that the kid wants to stay here with him and Morgan, and Tony can’t help but feel guilty for it.</p><p>“Mr. Stark?” Peter pokes him in the leg, pulling him out of his thoughts.</p><p>“Mr. Parker?” Tony pokes him back.</p><p>Peter laughs. “Tony.”</p><p>Tony props his chin on his hand. “Peter.”</p><p>“God, you’re the worst.”</p><p>“I know. I can do this all day.”</p><p>“No you can’t. There’s something else I wanna ask you.”</p><p>Tony frowns. “I thought it was my turn to talk now.”</p><p>“You said ‘cause I’m sick and it’s my birthday I can do anything I want,” Peter says. His tone is joking but the way he’s nervously fiddling with Morgan’s sweater gives him away.</p><p>“Oh, my mistake. Carry on, Mr. Parker.” Tony leans back, giving the swing another push with his foot.</p><p>Peter leans back too, and stares off into somewhere in the distance. “Earlier. You called me your kid.”</p><p>“You <em>are </em>my kid.”</p><p>“What does that even mean?”</p><p>Tony raises an eyebrow. “Uh...you’re a kid, and I signed a bunch of papers granting me legal ownership of you or whatever?”</p><p>“That’s not how it works.”</p><p>“Sure it is. Have you even read those papers? You don’t know that’s <em>not </em>what they say.”</p><p>“I have, actually,” Peter defends. “You left them lying around in your lab when we first moved in, so I read them. I had every right to.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony agrees warily.</p><p>“So I know...” Peter swallows. “I know the temporary guardianship was for six months, and you negotiated an extra two months. Which means it expired. In June.”</p><p>“Yeah, uh.” Tony clears his throat. He feels wrong-footed. This isn’t really how he’d envisioned this conversation going down, but it is what it is now, and there’s no turning back. “That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”</p><p>Peter’s eyes blow wide and his face drains of its little remaining colour.</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” Tony says, tripping over his words. “Kid. Whatever you think I meant, that’s not what I meant. Whoa. You’re not going anywhere. Would you please stop looking so freaked out? You’re freaking <em>me </em>out. God, I’m terrible at this.”</p><p>“What?” Peter croaks. He takes a deep trembling breath and shifts Morgan in his lap.</p><p>“For Christ’s sake.” Tony puts a hand on either side of the kid’s face and squishes his cheeks together. “You idiot sandwich. How could you think...I don’t know, whatever the hell you’re thinking?”</p><p>“Um.” Peter’s voice is muffled, but Tony doesn’t let him go. “So you...want me to stay here?”</p><p>“Dumbass, I want to adopt you.”</p><p>They stare at each other for a second. Peter blinks.</p><p>“Uh.” Tony lets go of Peter’s face. “If that’s what you want too. No pressure. I know I kind of arm-twisted you into coming out here and I fucked up a few times. A lot of times, whatever, water under the bridge, right? I just thought instead of extending the guardianship we could – I don’t know. You’re Morgan’s brother for all intents and purposes. Might as well make it official. But, uh, you don’t have to, we can just be...two guys and a baby hanging out in a cabin. You can live here as long as you want no matter what you decide. Or not. If you want to go live with Steve I’d...well, I’d be mortally offended until my dying day, but-”</p><p>“No, um, it’s cool,” Peter says, his eyes still wide as saucers. “It’s cool with me.”</p><p>“Oh.” Tony laughs nervously. “Really?”</p><p>“Yep.” The kid clears his throat. “It won’t...change our vibe too much, will it?”</p><p>“God no,” Tony says, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “Listen, kid. I’m not trying to replace your dad. Or Ben. Those are some shoes I have, uh, approximately zero percent chance of filling, so I’m not even gonna go there. I’m still gonna be the same incompetent dickhead who’s trying his absolute damndest to mitigate the damage of his fuckups on a daily basis. Wow. There’s a reason Pepper never let me have any say in our publicity and marketing strategies, it is not my forte.”</p><p>“I think you’re doing a pretty good job,” Peter says, with a shy sidelong smile. “Morgan does too.” Tony frowns. “How do you know what Morgan thinks?”</p><p>“We discussed it in advance of your quarterly performance review. There’s areas for improvement, but overall I think we’re both okay with keeping you on and letting you grow in the role.”</p><p>“You sarcastic little asshole.”</p><p>“Learned from the best.”</p><p>Tony laughs and punches Peter lightly in the arm. Peter punches him back and then shifts over to lean his head on Tony’s shoulder.</p><p>He may not be the kid’s dad, but damned if every now and again he doesn’t catch himself with an alarmingly wishful little ache blooming up in his chest.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They make the long drive to New York three weeks later. Peter and Tony are both wearing suits – Tony’s a tasteful and restrained Armani, and Peter’s a well-loved garment clearly made for a much stockier man (but one that he seems very proud to be wearing.) Morgan is sporting a little yellow cupcake of a dress with a matching bow in her hair. She manages not to get anything sticky on it. In Tony’s book that’s a wholesale victory.</p><p>“Oh, look at you three,” Rhodes says when they arrive at the Compound. He strides forwad and crushes all of them into a hug. “God <em>damn </em>you clean up nice, huh? What’d you do with that scruffy little urchin you picked up, Tones? You replaced him with a proper young man. Well shit.” He’s in his full Air Force dress blues despite the late-summer heat.</p><p>“Quit it,” Peter grouses good-naturedly as Rhodes goes in to tousle his gelled hair, laughing and ducking away.</p><p>Rhodes is undeterred. “And look at <em>you</em>,” he coos, stealing Morgan out of Tony’s arms. “Oh, who’s just my little <em>princess</em>? You’re killing me, Mo.” Morgan squeals and goes in for a drooly baby kiss.</p><p>“Well, Jesus,” Tony says. “What am I, chopped liver?”</p><p>“Your kids are cuter than you are.” Rhodes throws an affectionate arm around Tony’s shoulder nonetheless. “Let’s get this show on the road, huh?”</p><p>The four of them drive together to the courthouse. Peter holds Morgan’s hand, patiently keeping pace with her as she toddles up the steps, and Tony clutches the stack of expedited paperwork in a black folder. Rhodes follows them into the courtroom.</p><p>The judge is clearly in a hurry and rushes them through the process. Since the Snap, things like home studies and lawyer-facilitated meetings have fallen by the wayside in favour of getting kids into homes and out of the vastly overburdened system – so all it really takes is a testimony from Rhodes that yes, Tony and Peter have known each other for years, yes he can vouch for Tony’s character, and yes he believes Tony will be a responsible and caring parent to Peter. (The adorable pink-cheeked gurgling mass of frills on Tony’s lap does wonders for the believability of that last bit.) Then Peter answers some questions – yes, he likes living with Tony, he’s treated well, always has enough to eat, they’re working on resuming his schooling. Lastly Peter and Tony both sign forms consenting to the adoption, and then...that’s that.</p><p>They’re a family.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The idea was a low-key celebration. Well, low-key by Tony’s standards, anyways. Dinner at the nicest restaurant left in New York, just the three of them and Rhodes.</p><p>That’s not how it pans out.</p><p>How it pans out is that they walk into the restaurant and the table is occupied by Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner and Steve motherfucking Rogers.</p><p>“What the <em>fuck? </em>” Tony stops dead in his tracks.</p><p>“Tones, come on,” Rhodes pleads. “Tonight’s about family, right?”</p><p>“Right,” Tony hisses, “it <em>was </em>about family until you invited <em>them</em>.”</p><p>Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Tony can tell from the look on his face that he’s cooking up a speech, so he raises his hand. “Can it, Rogers. Nice catching up. See you all later, or not.” He turns on his heel.</p><p>A tentative hand lands on his shoulder.</p><p>“Tony,” Peter says quietly. “Um...I don’t mind. Having dinner with them. I think it could be nice.”</p><p>A million nasty retorts bubble up in Tony’s mouth at that, but some combination of growth and weariness causes them to die back down before they can escape.</p><p>“Pete,” he whispers sharply. “Do you even understand what happened between all of us? If Rogers hadn’t been busy playing fugitive – if – if we’d been <em>together </em>when-”</p><p>“You recruited me to fight in Germany and you thought I understood enough then,” Peter whispers back in a reproving tone. “It’s not Captain Rogers’ fault that this happened. It’s not yours either. It’s Thanos’ fault and no one else’s.”</p><p>Tony wants to argue, he <em>desperately </em>wants to argue, but the firm set of Peter’s mouth tells him that it won’t do him any good. In all the years he’s known Peter he’s at least learned this.</p><p>He looks around. All eyes are on him. Natasha’s face is carefully blank. Bruce’s expression is pleading. Steve looks openly miserable.</p><p>“Whatever.” Tony marches resolutely to the table and sits down directly across from Steve. “Let’s do this.”</p><p>Peter sits down next to him, pulling up a highchair for Morgan, and Rhodes seats himself on Tony’s other side.</p><p>“Nice to see you again, Queens,” Steve says hesitantly.</p><p>“Yeah, um,” Peter laughs awkwardly. “You too, Brooklyn.”</p><p>Tony wants to throw a sideplate at Cap’s face. A meme that Peter sent him recently flashes into his brain: <em>Don’t talk to me or my son ever again, </em>stamped over an image of an obese dachsund and its little puppy. Suddenly he feels like he’s going to burst out into wild laughter. He stuffs a fist in his mouth.</p><p>“You okay over there, Tony?” Bruce prompts.</p><p>“Heart attack?” Natasha suggests helpfully.</p><p>Tony chokes on a snort and then regains his composure. “Fuck off.”</p><p>Natasha raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t react. “So are you going to introduce us to your kids or what?”</p><p>“Morgan. Peter.” Tony gestures vaguely, fighting down a sort of pleased yet startled feeling at the words ‘<em>your kids</em>.’ “You’ve met one of them before. So has Rogers. While throwing a shipping container at his head, as I recall.”</p><p>Steve sighs and looks down at his plate. “This was a bad idea.”</p><p>“You’re telling me,” Tony mutters. He makes the mistake of looking over at Peter.</p><p>Peter is glaring directly at him, his mouth clamped into nearly a straight line.</p><p>Tony’s seen this face a couple of times, usually after catastrophic fuckups on his part, and he knows what it means. It means: <em>Grow the fuck up, Tony</em>. Whether Peter would ever actually phrase it that way or not.</p><p>“Okay, proposal,” Tony says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s just have an awkward but civil dinner and then never see each other again. Then everyone’s happy, yeah?”</p><p>The faces around the table tell him <em>no, Tony, literally no one is happy right now you jackass</em>, but he can’t bring himself to care. He gestures towards the baby, who is happily banging Rhodes’ car keys against the tray of her highchair. “This is Morgan. She’s one year old next week and her hobbies are chasing Gerald and knocking things over. This is Peter. He’s seventeen and his hobbies include a bunch of extreme nerd shit and also just being a better human being than everyone else around this table combined. I officially adopted Peter today so it’s all downhill for him from here. Any questions?”</p><p>Steve frowns. “Who’s Gerald?”</p><p>The question is so <em>Steve</em>, so caught up in a random detail that wasn’t really the point of the sentence, that Tony has to consciously force down a smile.</p><p>“He’s our alpaca,” Peter volunteers shyly.</p><p>“Derald!” Morgan screeches in agreement.</p><p>“Oh, you talk, huh?” Natasha leans across the table towards Morgan. “I’m Nat. What’s your name?”</p><p>“Teese,” Morgan says matter-of-factly.</p><p>“No, stop that, your name is not <em>cheese.</em> You’re making me look like a bad father,” Tony stage-whispers to Morgan. She giggles. “We practiced this, you demon. Your name is Morgan.”</p><p>“Derald?”</p><p>Tony sighs. “One of them knows their name. Whatever. Parenting is hard.”</p><p>“You’re doing great, man,” Rhodes says so earnestly it rounds the bend into sarcasm. “Keep up the good work. Only one of them is a spandex enthusiast, so there’s another win right there.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, speaking of the spandex,” Natasha says, turning her level gaze on Peter. “Word on the street is that New York is missing its friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says noncommittally. Tony can see his fist clenching under the table.</p><p>“Spider-Man’s on sabbatical,” Tony cuts in firmly. “He’s earned it.”</p><p>The corners of Natasha’s eyes soften infinitesimally. “Yeah.” She leans back in her chair. “He has.”</p><p>The waiter arrives to take their orders. Tony orders for Peter, because he knows even looking at the menu will give Peter severe sticker shock. While watching his former friends pore over the specials, he registers that Natasha is wearing a delicately-printed floral sundress.</p><p>Tony has never seen that before, not ever, and he knows every single tiny thing Nat does carries a meaning. She’s telling him something she can’t or won’t say with words. Not yet.</p><p>He orders a bottle of her favourite scotch for the table to share.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“We should do that again,” Peter says on the drive home.</p><p>“We absolutely should not,” Tony counters.</p><p>“We should invite them to Morgan’s birthday party.”</p><p>“Are you listening to the words coming out of my mouth?”</p><p>“Yes. I’m choosing to disregard them.”</p><p>“It’s not happening. Disregard <em>that</em>.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because I said so.”</p><p>“That’s not as effective as you think it is.”</p><p>“I don’t say it because I think it’s effective.”</p><p>“You say it to shut down a conversation when you know I’m right.”</p><p>Tony pulls into the gravel driveway, puts the SUV in park, and lets his head drop onto the steering wheel. The horn blares.</p><p>“Ow!” Peter slams his hands over his ears. Morgan cackles in delight from the backseat.</p><p>“You’re so dramatic,” Peter chides three minutes later, trotting up the stairs after Tony as he carries Morgan to her room.</p><p>Tony ignores him.</p><p>“You can’t ignore me forever,” Peter says from the ceiling while Tony wrestles Morgan into her footie pajamas.</p><p>“Eetee,” Morgan babbles. “Eetee <em>up</em>.”</p><p>“Yes, Petey’s lurking on the ceiling like something out of a goddamned horror movie, which I’ve <em>told </em>him he’s not allowed to do after seven p.m. because it’s creepy as hell.”</p><p>“Eetee! Up!” Morgan cries.</p><p>“Oh, we’re communicating through the baby, I see.” Peter twists his head in the <em>especially</em> creepy way he knows Tony hates and smiles down at Morgan. “Your dad sure is being immature, isn’t he? You agree with me, right?”</p><p>“No!” Morgan claps her hands in clear agreement. “No, no, no.”</p><p>“It counts, she doesn’t know ‘yes’ yet.”</p><p>“Stop riling up the baby before bed.”</p><p>“You mean stop riling you up.”</p><p>“That too. Get down or I’m getting a broom.”</p><p>Peter lets go the ceiling and performs a stunningly acrobatic flip before landing on the balls of his feet like a cat. He gets right in Tony’s face with a cheesy grin. “Are you...<em>grounding </em>me?”</p><p>Tony can’t help it. He bursts out laughing. This kid. This ridiculous, sweet, goofy kid. <em>His </em>kid.</p><p>The thought makes his chest tighten suddenly with panic. He stops laughing abruptly. Somehow it feels hard to get the appropriate amount of air – <em>okay, calm down, it’s </em>never <em>actually a heart attack</em>-</p><p>“Daddy,” Morgan complains. “Daddy <em>up</em>. Daddy.”</p><p>His daughter’s voice pulls him back down to Earth. “Up where?” Tony grumbles. He leans down and plants a smacking kiss on her nose, partly to hide his face.</p><p>“<em>Up</em>.” Morgan points to the ceiling with obvious frustration at his incompetence.</p><p>“You can’t,” Peter laughs. “You’re not sticky. Or durable. Them’s the breaks.” He pries Morgan out of Tony’s arms and buries his face into her downy little wisps of hair. “Why do babies smell so good? It’s wild because all they do is expel gross fluids all day.”</p><p>“Eetee no,” Morgan protests grumpily.</p><p>“Probably some kind of evolutionary mechanism to prevent their parents from making them sleep outside in the shed,” Tony shrugs, conspicuously casual. “I’m feeling kinda snacky. Put the goblin to bed and then go brush your teeth while I abandon you both to raid the pantry.”</p><p>“Why would I brush my teeth? I’m not missing out on a good late-night binge.”</p><p>“Whatever. Find some other nighttime routine that gives me a good headstart before you clean out all the fucking oreos again.”</p><p>“Dude, that was <em>one time</em>.”</p><p>Half an hour later they’re both sprawled on the couch, still in their suits, sock feet propped up on the coffee table as they plow through sleeves of oreos, a tub of cookie dough ice-cream, a jar of peanut butter and a family-sized bag of hot cheetos.</p><p>“This is disgusting. You’re a bad influence on me,” Tony complains.</p><p>“Are you gonna invite the Avengers to Morgan’s birthday party?”</p><p>“Jesus Christ, you are <em>relentless.</em>”</p><p>Peter grins up at him, licks cheeto dust off his fingers, and reaches back into the bag. Tony tries to smack his hand away but Peter’s superhuman reflexes are faster.</p><p>“Ew,” he says sullenly, shoving Peter’s shoulder instead.</p><p>“I’ve seen you eat muffin crumbs off a plate in the sink.”</p><p>“That’s just practical.”</p><p>Peter licks his fingers again and then reaches for the oreos.</p><p>“Are you doing this to punish me?” Tony kicks him in the ankles and knocks the sleeve of cookies farther away.</p><p>Peter shrugs. “Yes.”</p><p>“So that’s your plan? Just get your germs on everything until I agree with you? It’s on, Parker. Morgan threw up directly in my mouth once. I’m immune to grossness.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says amiably. He pries an oreo open, takes a hot cheeto between his forefinger and thumb, and delicately grinds it to a fine powder directly over top of the oreo’s cream filling. He reassembles the cookie and then dips it into the peanut butter jar before raising it to his mouth, as Tony watches in fascinated horror.</p><p>“Peter <em>Parker</em>. Stop right there.”</p><p>Peter fixes him with a full-on, shit-eating grin.</p><p>“Do not eat that cookie, I am warning you.”</p><p>The kid pops it into his mouth and starts to chew with his mouth open. Even worse, he seems to be <em>enjoying </em>it.</p><p>“I can’t believe I’m witnessing this,” Tony groans, slamming a hand over his eyes in dismay. “This is an abomination. Oh, God, I might throw up.”</p><p>“I dunno, this is kind of good, actually,” Peter says. Tony can hear him rustling in the bag again, clearly going for round two.</p><p>“Okay. For fuck’s sakes. <em>Fine.</em> Just please put down the cheetos,” Tony pleads, peering through a crack in his fingers. Peter’s face lights up.</p><p>“You mean we’re inviting them?”</p><p>“No. I mean we’re going to talk about it, you’re going to agree with me that it’s a terrible idea, and you’re going to stop trying to give me nightmares.”</p><p>Peter nods eagerly, which Tony takes as a bad sign. “Why is this so important to you, anyways?”</p><p>“They’re your friends,” Peter says.</p><p>“They <em>were </em>my friends,” Tony corrects. Suddenly the heartbreakingly sincere expression on Peter’s face is a little much, so he looks away and busies himself twisting an oreo apart. “Kid, there’s a lot of things you don’t know. A lot of factors at play here. It’s complicated-”</p><p>“Don’t condescend to me,” Peter says calmly. Tony looks back up at him, startled. “If you just don’t want to share it, that’s cool. But I know more than you think I do. It’s not hard to put the pieces together.”</p><p>“If you – if you <em>know </em>all the shit that went down, and I highly doubt you do,” Tony says through clenched teeth, “then why would you advocate for me letting those people into my home? Letting them near my daughter?”</p><p>Peter fixes him with a steady gaze. “Because I know the difference. Between people who mean to cause harm and people who don’t.”</p><p>With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Tony realizes that he absolutely believes Peter. Peter does know the difference. And this knowledge was almost certainly gained at a terrible price.</p><p>“There’s not that many of us left, Tony,” Peter presses on. “Everyone’s hurting right now, you know? Everyone in the whole world has lost something. We’re all on equal footing here. It just seems kind of sad to put distance between yourself and the people who know you best.”</p><p>“<em>Hey</em>,” Tony snaps. “Don’t you think you’re overstepping a little here?”</p><p>“No,” Peter says evenly, “because you’re not my dad.”</p><p>They’d talked about it multiple times before the adoption. It was a legal formality, to keep their little team together without having to continue jumping through endless paperwork hoops. It was for Morgan. It was so that Peter and Tony could have each other’s backs in every sense. It wasn’t supposed to fuck up their vibe.</p><p>It’s true, but the words hit Tony like a punch in the gut all the same.</p><p>“They’re your family,” Peter continues, as if he doesn’t notice the stricken look on Tony’s face. “You should think about it, okay?” He casually eases himself off the couch, briefly squeezing Tony’s shoulder before making his way towards the stairs.</p><p><em>You and Morgan are my family</em>, Tony wants to call after him, to have the last word. But the words feel strange and dissonant in his brain.</p><p>He fishes his StarkPhone out of his pocket, scrolling aimlessly. There’s only one person he wants to talk to. The one person he can’t call. So he gets up, tugs his sneakers on, and heads for the worn little path to the clearing.</p><p>Tony lays there on his back between the two smooth stones for a long time, staring up at the stars. He hates them. Looking at this clear, unpolluted night sky brings the vastness of space crashing into the pit of his stomach, where he can’t ignore it. The stars have never meant good things for him.</p><p>A nightmarish horde pouring forth from a massive craft. A bomb. Piles of ash drifting towards an alien sun. Days spent staring at the corpse of a child he’d loved, even then.</p><p>So he stares long and hard, challenging the inky blackness between the pinpoints of light – <em>Come and get me. Do your fucking worst.</em></p><p>When his breaths start to come quick and shallow, he chokes out - “Pepper.”</p><p>There’s no answer, but even just saying her name brings him a little closer to the ground.</p><p>“Pep,” he says, little more than a whisper, “I think I made a mistake.”</p><p>But that feels wrong.</p><p>“Did I?” Tony asks.</p><p>The crickets and night breeze sing back to him.</p><p>“I just...I can’t be his father,” he explains. “I know that. He knows that. But I also can’t be his parent, I don’t think. That means...that means it’s not the two of us looking after Morgan. It means it’s just me. Parenting two children, alone. Without you, Pep. I don’t think I can do it. Maybe if...maybe if Rhodey were here. Or someone – someone who – I can’t be solely responsible for this kid. I’m going to fuck him up. Even more than I already have.”</p><p>Tony breathes in, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he exhales. “He died. He <em>died </em>when I was supposed to be keeping him safe. I’m so sorry for that, and that’s why I can’t...that’s why this was a mistake. I should’ve let the guardianship expire. I should have sent him to Steve.”</p><p>He’s not talking to Pepper anymore.</p><p>“But I couldn’t. Because I’m despicable. I’m selfish. I wish I could say I did it for Morgan, but I did it for me. I really...I really care about the kid. It would break my heart if he went anywhere.”</p><p><em>I’m sorry, May.</em> Tony sends the words out into the cool air around him. He thinks of a tiny cramped apartment with crayon drawings and high-school report cards alike taped to the fridge, a table still set for three, the smell of burnt walnut date loaf in the air. He thinks of a tousle-haired kid and his aunt exchanging a glance with more meaning packed into it than an entire conversation, a whole language without words, the kind you can only develop when it’s two of you against the whole world.</p><p>
  <em>How did you do it, all alone? How did you do it without the one person you counted on living your entire life with?</em>
</p><p>Back then, Peter had been all rumpled sweaters and worn-down sneakers and torrents of words and excitement. That kid still came out every now and again. The kid who’d grown up wrapped in so much love that he couldn’t help but turn around and put it back out into the universe. Tony had only met May twice – the second time she’d punched him directly in the face – but Peter’s ready smile, relentless morals and easy trust in his heroes told Tony all he needed to know about May Parker and how she’d raised her boy.</p><p>“What do I do?”</p><p>Would Pepper have told him to step up and be a father? Would May have demanded he let her precious child go and send him to be with someone who could do right by him?</p><p>In the end the ghost he listens to is that of his mother. A gentle hand on his back, the lingering scent of Guerlain’s <em>Shalimar</em>, and the soft sweet words that hovered on the edges of his childhood-</p><p><em>My love, all you can do is the next thing</em>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Yes. Monday at eleven. What, you got something better to do on a Monday morning? It’s not like you have a nine-to-five.”</p><p>“<em>That’s true,” </em>Steve says measuredly on the other end of the line. Tony can picture his face with perfect clarity. <em>“I just thought-”</em></p><p>“Oh, you took me at my word when I said I never wanted to see you again? Easy mistake to make, but only Sith deal in absolutes.”</p><p>“Which is kind of a paradox in itself-” Peter begins from where he’s hovering at the kitchen counter, shamelessly eavesdropping.</p><p>“<em>What’s a Sith?”</em></p><p>“What?!” Peter gasps.</p><p>“Put it on your list, centenarian. Anyways, are you gonna be there or not? I need to know how much cake we’re talking about. Peter could eat two sheet cakes alone.”</p><p>Peter pulls the hood of his sweater up over his head and makes a menacing face. “You underestimate my power.”</p><p>“Out,” Tony barks, hurling a stray Cheerio at him from Morgan’s high-chair tray. “Here’s some advice, Cap – don’t have kids. They’re horrible. Not you, Morgan, I was talking about your brother.”</p><p>Morgan takes this as an official sanction to hurl more Cheerios at Peter’s retreating back, giggling madly. Peter turns around to make a ridiculous face at her before disappearing around the corner.</p><p>“<em>Noted,” </em>Steve says. The amusement is evident in his tone, but it’s still tinged with caution. <em>“So – me and Natasha and Bruce? All three of us? What should we bring for gifts?”</em></p><p>“Ugh, no, not <em>Bruce.</em> I can’t stand that asshole. And I’m sure you’ll think of something. She’s a baby, I’m sure she’ll be more interested in the wrapping paper.”</p><p>Monday rolls around bright and gorgeously sunny, with just enough of a breeze to keep the heat off their backs. It pisses Tony off. He’d sort of been hoping they’d be hit with a freak blizzard that would block all the roads. He tells Peter as much.</p><p>“What?” Peter says, utterly nonplussed. “And waste all this?” He gestures loosely towards...well, the entire property. They’d maybe gone a bit overboard on the decorations. And the food. And the presents. And Morgan’s aggressively adorable little party dress, which Tony had ordered custom-made. Whatever. His daughter had made it through an entire year in one piece, which was nothing less than a god damned miracle.</p><p>“Oh wow,” Natasha says when she steps out of the car. She lowers her sunglassses and gives the streamer-covered cabin a once-over, then her eyes drift over to Gerald, who is eating his party sash.</p><p>“What is this? Are you cosplaying as a suburban power throuple? Jesus Christ,” Tony says, putting his hands on his hips and giving Natasha a once-over of his own. She’s wearing relaxed-fit jeans, a plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and white Converse. Steve is in a polo and khakis that are just fitted enough to tip him from ‘Microsoft employee retreat’ to ‘former hipster gone respectable,’ and Bruce has topped off his jeans and button-down with a baseball cap.</p><p>“Give us a break.” Bruce throws up his hands. “Nat’s the only one who’s ever been to a baby’s birthday party, we’re just following instructions. Neither Steve or I have ever even seen a baby up close.”</p><p>“People used to hand them to me all the time at parades,” Steve says defensively.</p><p>“Hey, guys,” Peter calls, jogging up to them with Rhodes and Morgan in tow. “It’s awesome that you could make it!” He skips to a stop in front of Steve and then makes an aborted hugging gesture with his arms that is so awkward Tony has to choke down a laugh, before settling on sticking his hand out instead.</p><p>“Nice to see you, son,” Steve says, graciously taking the proferred hand for a firm shake. “Thanks for inviting us.”</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t-” Peter laughs, scratching the back of his head. “It was Tony’s-”</p><p>“We all know it was your idea,” Natasha says warmly. She reaches forward and gathers Peter into a loose hug. “It was a good one, too.”</p><p>Before Peter can straight up die from the shock and delight of being hugged by the Black Widow herself, Natasha lets him go and kneels down to Morgan’s level.</p><p>“Hi again, little miss,” she says, and here’s a hint of something in her tone that Tony’s not sure if he’s imagining. “Happy birthday.”</p><p>“Yeh bah auwah,” Morgan tells her earnestly, stretching out her pudgy little arms. “Go. Go. Up.”</p><p>“Um-” Natasha looks up at Tony uncertainly.</p><p>“You heard the gremlin. Up. Go.”</p><p>Natasha lifts Morgan into her arms and settles the baby on her hip with practiced ease. Morgan screeches gleefully and leans over to smack her mouth on Natasha’s cheek.</p><p>“I guess she likes you,” Steve says.</p><p>Natasha’s expression is both fond and very far away. “Yeah.”</p><p>“No other guests, huh?” Bruce says, squinting around at the picnic tables heaped with food. “You haven’t made any dad friends yet?”</p><p>Tony shrugs. “Haven’t come across any dads in the wild yet. Guess I could set up a bear trap on the front lawn.”</p><p>“You know, there is a town just a few minutes’ drive away,” Steve says as they head towards the food. “You could...”</p><p>“Go into town and make friends?” Tony scoffs. “I’ll get right on that.”</p><p>Rhodes claps Tony on the shoulder. “Honestly, I’m shocked. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with such a ray of sunshine?”</p><p>“Eat shit.”</p><p>“Hey, anyone want to check out the lake?” Peter cuts in, shooting Tony a look that clearly says <em>Dude, behave.</em></p><p>The afternoon rolls on. They eat, shoot the shit, take turns chasing Morgan around, bother Gerald until he spits in Bruce’s face. Tony feels a creeping tension in his neck and keeps expecting for things to go sideways but they just...don’t.</p><p>He wonders, as he watches Rhodes and Bruce argue over whether ketchup on hot dogs is a mortal sin, how it could suddenly feel so much like old times. He and Steve still haven’t talked. Not really. Not about Siberia. There’s so much left unsaid, but here they are sitting elbow to elbow eating burgers, and that traitorously warm ache is blooming up somewhere in Tony’s stomach – that ache that had always hovered around the edges of time spent with the team, that he’d pushed back down with copious sarcasm.</p><p>“Kid’s like an air purifier, isn’t he?” Steve says, nodding towards Peter, who is currently entertaining Natasha with a story about the time he’d gotten literally stuck to a dumpster.</p><p>“Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, he is.”</p><p>And that’s the key, of course. With Peter Parker around – waving his arms animatedly in the telling of anecdotes, unable to stop talking even through a mouthful of hot dog, focusing his full attention on everyone in turn as if they’re the coolest thing he’s <em>ever </em>encountered – it’s just impossible to not let yourself take in a bit of that joy, like letting sunlight warm your face.</p><p>“He looks happy,” Steve says gently.</p><p>The sarcastic retort Tony wants to make shrivels up before it can escape his mouth. He sighs and rests his chin on his fist. “Not as happy as he used to be.”</p><p>“Compared to the kid who looked me in the eye and told me he wanted to be emancipated, I’d say he’s come a long way.” Steve pauses, clearly wrestling with something. He sighs. “Tony-”</p><p>“Not now, Cap,” Tony cuts him off. “We’ll talk, all right? Just – just not now.”</p><p>“Okay,” Steve says. He doesn’t sound annoyed or righteous or any of the things Tony’s come to associate with him in the past couple years. He just sounds sad.</p><p>The moment lingers over them, heavy and thick, then passes like a summer storm as Morgan crawls into Steve’s lap looking for a tithe of french fries. “’Nana,” Morgan commands imperiously, nestling her little head into Steve’s chest and gesturing towards the fries.</p><p>“Um, I don’t have a banana,” Steve says, gingerly petting Morgan’s head like one would a feral cat found in an alley. “Would you like a fry?”</p><p>“No, <em>‘nana</em>,” Morgan corrects him, sounding just short of condescending.</p><p>“Just give her the yellow thing that’s white on the inside, you big dope,” Natasha teases. “Language is a construct.”</p><p>“Oh,” Steve says, realization dawning. He hands Morgan a fry and then turns to Tony. “That’s – she’s – that’s <em>really </em>smart.”</p><p>“Duh,” Tony says boredly, although his heart is swelling with pride. His genius daughter, already displaying deductive reasoning skills more typical of a kid twice her age.</p><p>“Runs in the family, huh?” Bruce jokes.</p><p>Tony sneaks a glance at Peter.</p><p>“Skipped a generation,” Peter says with an impish grin, gesturing at Tony.</p><p>“You little shit,” Tony replies, reaching over to flick Peter directly in the forehead, even while he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He can’t help but grin, huge and ridiculous, as Peter dodges him with lightning-fast reflexes and nearly faceplants into a slice of cake as a result.</p><p><em>Happy </em>is kind of a nebulous thing, for everyone, these days. It probably won’t ever look like it did before. But sometimes – sometimes it feels just within reach.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for reading! I hope you're all safe and well. xo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. We who must remain go on laughing just the same</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tony stands on the edge of the dock, hands on his hips, staring out over the sun-sparkled water. Peter can tell just from his posture that he’s about to spout off some insane non-sequitur.</p><p>“We gotta get in that lake.”</p><p>Okay, as far as Tony-isms go, not bad. He’s standing in front of a lake, he’s talking about a lake. The association is there. Missing, of course, is the <em>why</em>.</p><p>The thing about Tony’s insane non-sequiturs is that he doesn’t really feel the need to elaborate on them. If you don’t ask him about it his brain will just ricochet away into another train of thought. Then you’ve missed your chance, and the non-sequitur won’t come up again until days or even weeks later when it’s had the chance to mutate into a full-fledged <em>project</em>.</p><p>That’s what Peter tells himself, anyways. He has to pry the idea out of Tony’s head in its infancy before it becomes dangerous. It’s not because he’s curious. Abso<em>lutely</em> not.</p><p>“Why?” Peter says flatly.</p><p>Tony turns around and squints at him, like he can’t believe Peter would ask such a stupid question. “We’ve lived here for almost a year and we’ve never been in the lake.”</p><p>“Maybe we’re not lake people.”</p><p>“We live right next to a lake. We’re lake people.”</p><p>“That’s not how it works.”</p><p>“Who died and made you king of the lake people?”</p><p>“Aquaman?”</p><p>“Aquaman is king of the <em>ocean</em> people, dumbass.”</p><p>“He can survive in freshwater,” Peter argues for the sake of arguing. “They did a whole special in the 70’s where he fought pollution in Lake Superior.”</p><p>“Wow,” Tony says in a monotone, “that’s so fascinating, Peter, what a riveting fact.”</p><p>Peter folds his arms and avoids the urge to pout. “You’re mean.”</p><p>“The worst,” Tony agrees cheerfully. He turns back around towards the water. “I’m thinking we get a boat. A rowboat. Wouldn’t that be cute? Agree with me, Peter, that would be very cute.”</p><p>“You’re mean and I will not agree with you.”</p><p>“Okay, kid, I hear what you’re saying. We should work our way up to boats. Swimming first, I guess? Or wading? Have we done wading?”</p><p>“No,” Peter says. It’s a complete lie. Peter’s taken Morgan to splash in the shallows a few times. “The water’s toxic. Haven’t you seen the advisory signs? There used to be a limestone processing plant near here. Everything’s contaminated.”</p><p>“Cool,” Tony says. “Maybe if we expose Morgan I can have two mutant kids. Start an army or something.”<br/><br/>“When we have enough mutants can we pick a fight with Xavier?”</p><p>“<em>Hell yeah</em>,” Tony says delightedly. “Go get changed and I’ll get the baby.”</p><p>“Wait, what?” Peter frowns. “We’re going to fight Xavier now?”</p><p>“No, we’re going wading. Your swim trunks are in the top drawer of your dresser. I should make you wrestle Morgan into her swimsuit after all that back talk, but I’m feeling kinda charitable today.” Tony’s already started walking at full speed towards the house. Peter jogs after him.</p><p>“I don’t have swim trunks. What are you talking about?”</p><p>“Yes, you do,” Tony says impatiently, in that <em>keep up</em> kind of way. “I ordered them for you last week. They’re Gucci, from a couple seasons back, pain in the ass to track down. You’ll love ‘em.”</p><p>“<em>What? </em>”</p><p>Okay, so Peter hadn’t caught this particular idea before it became a project. But Tony’s right. He really does love the swim trunks. They’re printed with a pattern of hyper-realistic ice cream drumsticks floating on a backdrop of blue sky with fluffy white clouds.</p><p>“I hate these,” Peter says, bounding down the stairs with a huge grin.</p><p>Tony peers at Peter over the top of his sunglasses. “What is this today? Why are you so contrary? Is this the fabled teenage rebellion phase I’ve read so much about?”</p><p>“No,” Peter says.</p><p>“Is it because I didn’t show appropriate interest in your Aquaman fact? Tell me again. I promise I’ll listen this time.”</p><p>“You won’t.” Peter heads out the door and Tony follows him.</p><p>“You’re right. Comic book factoids are the <em>worst</em>. ‘Blah, blah, did you know in Bicentennial Batman #489 Bruce Wayne ate a vegetarian panini for breakfast which was important to his character development for some stupid reason,’ and if you didn’t know about the fucking panini then you’re not a <em>real </em>fan and you’re not allowed to like Batman anymore. Talk about lame.”</p><p>Peter stops short and turns to face Tony. “Sounds like you have some unresolved baggage.”</p><p>Tony sniffs. “Clint is an asshole and a giant dweeby nerd. I’m allowed to like Batman just because he had the balls to go for a cape and pointy ears.”</p><p>“Daddy!” Morgan shrieks impatiently at the top of her lungs. She’s leashed to a tree, which was not <em>really</em> what Peter had had in mind when he’d suggested a child leash, but neither of them have come up with a better solution for her genetic propensity to hurtle towards the nearest dangerous thing.</p><p>“Oh, wow,” Peter says. “That’s...a swimsuit, alright.”</p><p>Morgan’s little tiny baby swimsuit is a riot of grotesquely clashing colours printed with what look like wolves and roaring sabre tooth tigers. It looks like an Ed Hardy fever dream. It <em>really </em>suits her.</p><p>“Isn’t it great?” Tony crows. “That one’s Gucci too. Fall 2017.”</p><p>In lieu of a response, Peter frees Morgan from her baby prison and follows her as she waddles towards the water.</p><p>“Okay, Morguna, you gotta hold my hand while you’re in the water.” Peter stretches his hand out, and she obligingly curls her tiny fingers into his.</p><p>“Fuh, fuh, fuh,” she mutters, stomping her little feet up and down to make splashes. Peter laughs and mimics her and they splash around for a bit until Tony joins them with a large assortment of pool floaties that Peter has never seen before.</p><p>Morgan gets tired after about an hour, so Tony puts her down for a nap on a towel spread out in the shade. Peter sits with his legs swinging off the dock, watching the ripples his feet create spread out and away. He can hear Tony’s footsteps approaching him but he’s too warm and content to react.</p><p>Which is a mistake.</p><p>“Fuck!” Peter screeches as he goes flying off the dock into the frigid water. His cry is cut off as he dips under the surface. He flails frantically.</p><p>“I can’t swim,” he gasps, as he manages to surface for a second.</p><p>“Nice try,” Tony’s sarcastic voice echoes from above.</p><p>Another few seconds of panicked flailing later, and as he surfaces again, he hears: “Oh, fuck, you’re not joking.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“What the hell, man,” Peter complains again, as Tony towels him off back on dry land. Morgan slumbers on next to them, fluttering eyelashes brushing chubby cheeks flushed from the warmth of the afternoon.</p><p>“What? I saved you, didn’t I? How was I supposed to know Spider-Man can’t swim?”</p><p>“You say that like fighting crime comes with swimming as a prerequisite.”</p><p>Tony starts drying his hair so vigorously it may as well be a noogie. “It should. What if Aquaman puts out a distress signal, huh?”</p><p>“Then I’ll push the Iron Man suit into the water and you can go deal with it,” Peter grumbles, but he can’t help it - a smile is cracking through. He starts to laugh.</p><p>“What’s so funny, huh?”</p><p>“Swimming was the last sport May and Ben ever tried to make me do,” Peter says. “Ben was really stuck on this parenting book that said team sports are good for kids’ self-esteem, and May heard from another nurse that swimming was easier for kids with asthma. Something about the humidity.”</p><p>“I can guess how that went.”</p><p>“May said it was like watching a manatee try to climb a tree.”</p><p>“That is...a very strange metaphor that paints a very clear picture.”</p><p>“Those were her specialty.”</p><p>Tony drapes the towel around Peter’s shoulders and goes digging in the bag of water toys. He emerges with a sandwich, handing it to Peter.</p><p>“You packed sandwiches? The kitchen is like, two minutes away.” Peter grins up at him and accepts the sandwich. It’s his favourite - ham and cheese BLT with extra bacon, mustard and pickles, which Tony pretends to be disgusted by but Peter has totally caught him eating in the kitchen at two in the morning.</p><p>“What?” Tony says gruffly, sitting down next to Peter and pulling on a battered Aerosmith t-shirt. “Not allowed to take my kids out for a picnic at the lake?”</p><p>Peter takes a huge bite of the sandwich. Partly because he’s hungry from his brush with a watery grave, partly because something in Tony’s voice is making him feel a little bit of a clench in his chest. “Yuh huh,” he says through an enormous mouthful of ham and bacon.</p><p>Tony doesn’t even call him gross. He just slings an arm around Peter’s shoulder and stares out towards the water.</p><p>“You sure you gotta go to school next week?” he says, after a long moment.</p><p>Peter swallows, both the sandwich and the rising lump in his throat. “Wh-what? I thought you wanted me to go?”</p><p>Tony sniffs. “Yeah, go, be free. Run wild with nerds your own age. Make sure you smoke some pot behind the dumpsters or you’re grounded.” A pause. “Just...don’t forget about me and Morgan. I’ll tattoo our names on your forehead so every time you look in the mirror, you remember-”</p><p>“It’s two days a week,” Peter says, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder. “But...um...” he swallows the stubborn lump down again. “It’s gonna be weird. I’m gonna miss you guys. Like, a lot.”</p><p>“Who said anything about missing each other?” Tony says abruptly, elbowing Peter in the ribs. “Christ, it’s two days a week, you have a cell phone, and I’m gonna tattoo our names on your forehead. All you have to do is look in the mirror. Eat your sandwich, you skinny doofus.” Tony gets up and scoops Morgan into his arms, wrapping her up in the little bunny-printed towel she’d been sleeping on. Then he casually bends down, plants a kiss on the crown of Peter’s head, and walks with conspicuous speed back towards the house.</p><p>Peter flops onto his back, determined to catch a little more sunshine. It had somehow never occurred to him that Tony would miss him too while he was away at school. The thought sends a warmth spreading across his shoulders that has nothing to do with the rays of sun filtering through the leaves.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The first day of school doesn’t suck so far, but it also doesn’t not suck.</p><p>It’s just...medium. Flat. Dull.</p><p>The other kids don’t seem to care about the new student in their midst. Peter guesses they’re more focused on the conspicuously empty seats scattered throughout each classroom. Peter doesn’t mind. He likes the invisibility.</p><p>It means he can grieve the conspicuously empty seat at his own side in peace.</p><p>Peter misses Ned desperately. He feels like a traitor for having a first day of school without Ned for the first time since they were seven years old. He’s never quite gotten out of the habit of reaching for his phone to text Ned every time Tony has a crazy new idea or Morgan does something really cute, but it feels even worse right now. He’s never had to process a day of school without Ned at his side. Peter wonders what Ned would have thought about the class schedule - all of the English, Social Studies, and Art classes lumped in on one day, STEM classes on the other day, almost like they were purposefully making it easy to skip the subjects you were shitty at.</p><p>Ned probably would have told him that the STEM/Humanities rivalry was lame and they should try to be well-rounded citizens. MJ probably would have said that under-socialized STEM nerds are a plague on society. Cindy would have smacked MJ with her adorable Totoro-themed pencil bag and told her to quit rationalizing skipping class.</p><p>Is Cindy even still alive? Peter had never even checked. A horrible feeling pools in his gut. He distracts himself by trying his best to listen to his Literature teacher going over the syllabus.</p><p>‘Bet they made the floor this gross colour so they wouldn’t have to clean up puke right away and no one would notice,’ he would have said to Ned as they walked through the cafeteria. But there’s no Ned, so the thought has nowhere to go. Peter considers texting it to Tony. He doesn’t. He just sits down at an empty table, puts his head on his arms, and takes a shaky breath.</p><p>“What’s up, new kid?”</p><p>Peter debates ignoring the voice. For long enough that it’s actually kind of rude. But when he raises his head, the voice’s owner is still there.</p><p>A girl, with blonde hair secured by a black headband, dressed kind of preppy. She’s looking down at him with raised eyebrows, but her expression isn’t unkind.</p><p>“Um, nothing,” Peter says eloquently.</p><p>She takes that as an invitation to sit down next to him with her tray. “Do you need help finding the lunch line?” She gestures vaguely across the cafeteria to the very obvious lunch line, manned by one solitary middle-aged woman who looks like she’d rather be almost anywhere else.</p><p>“I, uh,” Peter fumbles, “I have a packed lunch.”</p><p>“Unpack it then. You just sitting here watching me eat is gonna get weird fast.”</p><p>Peter obeys her dumbly, reaching into his backpack and pulling out...oh, <em>god</em>, a fabric lunch bag like the ones grade schoolers bring their snacks in. Iron Man themed, of course.</p><p>The girl snorts. “You’re funny.”</p><p>Hopefully that means she thinks he’s being ironic. Peter half-smiles in her direction and then dumps the contents of the suspiciously heavy lunch bag onto the table.</p><p>And there’s mistake number two. Out falls three sandwiches, an extremely random assortment of fruit, an energy drink, two juice boxes, some loose Doritos, a Ziploc bag containing a well-aged slice of leftover pizza and a note.</p><p>The girl snatches it before he can get to it and unfolds it. There, in Tony’s large, bold scrawl: ‘HAVE FUN AT SCHOOL. MORGAN LOVES YOU BUT I CAN’T STAND YOU. DON’T DO ANYTHING I WOULD DO.’</p><p>She looks at the note, then at him, then at the loose Doritos shedding cheese dust onto the table and the kiwi and pomegranate and exactly five cherries sitting together like the world’s saddest still life.</p><p>“You are so fucking weird,” she snorts again, then breaks into earnest laughter. “Are you really gonna eat three sandwiches <em>and</em> that pizza? Who’s Morgan? How are you supposed to eat a pomegranate without a knife? God, you are <em>way </em>better than I imagined when I heard there was going to be a transfer.”</p><p><br/>“What did you imagine?” Peter asks grumpily, dumping Doritos back into his lunch bag.</p><p>“An asshole,” she says with a bright smile. “I’m Gwen, by the way.”</p><p>“I’m Peter.” He smiles hesitantly back. “I’m, um, glad you don’t think I’m an asshole?”</p><p>Gwen gestures towards his lunch. “Jury’s still out. Share some of your snacks with me and then I’ll decide.”</p><p>They eat companionably, while Gwen fills him in on post-Snap life in Mayfield and the surrounding area. Some towns were hit hard, she explains; losing nearly all their residents. Some towns saw nearly no loss at all. Peter nods along. It’s the same way all over the world. Some cities (Prague, Dallas, Moscow, Taipei) were almost completely obliterated. New York and Mayfield were both about half-and-half.</p><p>“You know there’s one city that didn’t report a single loss of life from the Snap?”</p><p>“You’re kidding,” Peter says, wide-eyed.</p><p>“Nope. Calgary, Alberta, Canada.”</p><p>Peter isn’t quite sure how to feel about that, but he supposes that’s math for you.</p><p>“Anyways, it took so long to get school up and running here because we lost, like, three-quarters of the faculty,” Gwen continues on, as blase as if she’s talking about the weather. “Most of the school board too. Principal Lee arranged this thing with the Broadalbin and Northville school districts to, like, share teachers. So most of them teach here a couple days a week - Broadalbin a couple days a week - then Northville, on a rotating schedule.”</p><p>“School aren’t even open in NYC yet. Not till November,” Peter says through a mouthful of his sandwich.</p><p>“Yeah, I heard.” Gwen frowns. “Guess there’s more bureaucratic hoops to jump through. Hey, why go to school here instead of just commuting? You’re from there, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Yep,” Peter says shortly. “I just - I gotta help out at home.”</p><p>“Okay,” Gwen says amiably, and lets it drop.</p><p>He skips the class after lunch, and jogs out to the bleachers. There he curls in on himself and cries.</p><p>He hadn’t wanted to meet Gwen, to sit with someone else at lunch. He’d wanted to sit by himself and think about Ned. It feels like he’s betraying his best friend, over and over again.</p><p>Worse yet, he’d enjoyed talking to her. It had been easy. Kind of fun, even.</p><p>“I don’t know how to do this without you, dude,” he mutters into his knees. “This sucks. This fucking <em>sucks</em>.”</p><p>There’s no big arms enveloping him in an exuberant hug. No ‘Aw, Pete, it’ll suck less tomorrow. Probably.’ No attempt to distract him with an obscure Star Trek fact. No offer of a warm ensaymada from Ned’s lovingly-packed lunch to cheer him up.</p><p>Peter thinks maybe the worst thing about grief isn’t the immediate absence - it’s the thought of all the absences stretching indefinitely out into the future, all those little moments where he’ll feel them over and over and over again. And the ways they compound. Because the thing is, he can’t go home to Ben and curl up next to him in the old armchair and cry about how much he wishes Ned were here; and he can’t ask May if he can lay in her bed while she gently scratches her nails along his scalp because he misses Ben so much he feels like he’ll never sleep again.</p><p>It’s a horrible, unmooring feeling. Like he’s out drifting in space again with no hope of ever getting home. All of the things holding him to Earth - his personal centers of gravity - are all gone, dissolved into nothing.</p><p>Peter digs frantically in his bag, looking for his cell phone. He doesn’t know what he wants to do with it. Maybe call May’s number and listen to her voicemail for the eighth time this week. But then his eyes catch that stupid Iron Man lunch bag.</p><p>Peter takes a deep, shuddering breath. Then another. Then he zips up his backpack, slings it over his shoulder and heads to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water. He makes it to his History class just in time, sliding into his seat as the bell rings.</p><p>“Where’d you go? You missed Econ,” Gwen asks from behind him, poking him in the middle of the back with the sharp end of her pencil.</p><p>“Went to go cry in the bleachers,” Peter says.</p><p>“Mood,” Gwen replies, nodding sagely.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The school bus stop closest to the cabin is just a particularly wide shoulder on the highway, and from there it’s a two-mile walk. Peter doesn’t mind the extra time to think and decompress. He catches himself glancing up at the trees, thinking it would probably be more fun to swing, but quickly shakes his head to clear the image out of his head. He left Spider-Man in New York.</p><p>(Or maybe he left Spider-Man on Titan. It’s hard to tell.)</p><p>It doesn’t matter. Here he’s just Peter Parker. That will have to be enough for now.</p><p>By the time he gets home he’s ravenously hungry, despite caving about half an hour into the walk back and eating the stale pizza slice. He bangs through the door, calls “I’m home!” and then makes a beeline for the pantry. By the time Tony makes it to the kitchen, Morgan propped on his hip, Peter is digging enthusiastically into a jar of peanut butter with a fork he’d found in the sink.</p><p>“Welcome home,” Tony says, so casually it’s a bit suspicious. Peter puts the fork down and looks up. Morgan’s little face is flushed and pouty, and when she catches his eye she turns away and buries her head in Tony’s shoulder.</p><p>“Awww, Mo,” Peter croons, getting up and reaching out to take her from Tony. “You can’t be mad at me, I was only gone for like, a few hours.”</p><p>“Nine hours,” Tony corrects.</p><p>“Morgan, c’mere,” Peter says, trying to pry her off Tony. She clings like a tiny leech.</p><p>“No,” she mumbles. Peter’s heart clenches. He looks helplessly up at Tony.</p><p>“Why is she mad at me?” he says, feeling a lump swelling up in his throat yet again.</p><p>“Probably because you left for nine hours,” Tony says unhelpfully with a one-shouldered shrug.</p><p>“What, you too? I’m trying to get an <em>education</em>,” Peter groans, burying his face in his hands.</p><p>“I’m sorry, kid,” Tony sighs. “The hours and hours of uninterrupted crying are messing with my circuits. Let me put the shrieking hell-demon down for a nap and then we can talk about your first day of school.”</p><p>“Nothing to talk about,” Peter says, flopping back down in his chair and digging the fork back into the peanut butter. Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow that tells Peter he’s probably not going accept that answer, so while he’s putting Morgan down Peter racks his brain for some appropriately boring details from the day to get Tony off his case.</p><p>“Anyways, don’t take it personally,” Tony says as he re-enters the kitchen, resuming mid-conversation as if he’d never left. “I made FRIDAY look it up. Apparently babies develop object permanence around seven months, so Morgan definitely doesn’t think you’ve died every time you leave the room.”</p><p>“That’s...great.”</p><p>“Which means that she’s just pissy about a disruption to her schedule. Babies like routine and you’ve been around for, let’s see, ninety-three point seven five percent of her life. As soon as she figures out that you’ll come back every time she should quit freaking out. I was reading up on models of attachment - I think Morgan’s pretty secure, but I’ve been thinking maybe she needs to be socialized with other babies, what do you think? Where do we find other babies?”</p><p>“Parent-and-baby yoga classes,” Peter says, resigning himself to the tangent.</p><p>“What? Why do babies need yoga? Their bones aren’t even fused together. They’re the definition of flexibility.” Tony frowns. “You made that up.”</p><p>“Nuh huh,” Peter says through a mouthful of peanut butter. “The community center near my old apartment had posters up for it.”</p><p>“Oh.” The furrow between Tony’s eyebrows deepens. “You think Mayfield has something like that?”</p><p>“Doubt it,” Peter shrugs, although the image of Tony struggling through a yoga class is pretty entertaining.</p><p>“Speaking of classes,” Tony pivots, taking Peter completely off-guard, “How were yours?”</p><p>“Um, good,” Peter says hastily before shoving another hunk of peanut butter into his mouth.</p><p>Tony sits down in the chair next to him and watches him patiently until he’s finished. “Yeah? What’d you have today? Make any friends?”</p><p>“Aren’t you going to give me shit for eating peanut butter out of the jar with a dirty fork?”</p><p>“Nope.” Tony grabs a nearby spoon and helps himself to a spoonful of peanut butter. “You gonna answer my questions?”</p><p>“Lit, Econ, History and Art. No friends.”</p><p>Gwen’s not a friend, anyways. Just a weirdly pushy acquaintance.</p><p>Tony shrugs. “Eh, give it time. Try telling that dumb electron joke of yours. No, wait, don’t do that.” He claps Peter on the shoulder, takes one last bite of peanut butter, then strolls out of the kitchen. Peter watches him go. He’s not sure if he’s grateful Tony dropped it or...the smallest, tiniest bit disappointed.</p><p>May would have pried every last detail out of him. Ben wouldn’t have needed to.</p><p>Peter puts down the jar of peanut butter and heads out into the garden.</p><p>Hours later, just as the sun is starting to dip in the sky, he hears Tony’s heavy footsteps approaching from behind. He doesn’t look up, waiting for Tony to say something. Tony doesn’t say anything. He just drops down next to Peter in the dirt and holds the trellis steady as Peter winds the tomato vines through. Once they’re done securing the newest growth, they trim back a few errant pole bean tendrils that have crept through to the tomato side of the trellis, then they set to pruning the basil and pepper plants. Lastly, Tony carefully pins the strawberry runners to train them away from encroaching on the herb garden, and Peter busies himself arranging the broad zucchini and rhubarb leaves to give his fledgling mayflowers a little extra shade.</p><p>Their language working together in the garden is so similar to working together in the lab that it makes Peter’s throat ache a little. Instead of handing Tony a wrench it’s pruning scissors. In the lab Tony will reach over and correct Peter’s circuit placement by just a hair. Here he reaches over and pats a little extra dirt around the base of the pepper seedling Peter’s trying to coax upright.</p><p>Finally Tony stands up and brushes the dirt off the knees of his jeans. “Well, Pete, I think the garden is...thoroughly gardened. Come on, kid, let’s get some dinner in you.”</p><p>Peter looks at Tony’s outstretched hand. He takes it and numbly lets himself be pulled up. They stare at each other for a moment, features dim and obscure in the quickly encroaching dusk.</p><p>“I miss Ned,” Peter says. His voice breaks on his best friend’s name. “I miss him so much. It hurts.” He knows it sounds melodramatic, but it really does hurt. It feels like someone’s reached into his chest with ice-cold fingers and squeezed.</p><p>“Oh, kid,” Tony says, his face falling. He reaches towards Peter, then hesitates, his hand hovering awkwardly between them. “I know. He was your guy in the chair. If it was Rhodey...” his hand drops and clenches at his side. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Peter nods, tears streaming openly down his face. He doesn’t even try to scrub them away. It’s like something has broken apart in his chest that he can’t hold back anymore.</p><p>Tony’s face twists up. Peter can tell he’s freaking Tony out. He feels bad but doesn’t know how to stop. The tears just won’t stop coming. The best he can do is wrap his arms around his chest and try to keep his shoulders still against the choking sobs heaving up through his diaphragm.</p><p>“What do you need?” Tony says helplessly.</p><p>“I need Ned back,” Peter moans. “And...and...” he can’t even bring himself to say it. May. Ben. His mom, who he only remembers in echoing snatches of song and blurs of bright colour drifting through the most remote parts of his mind.</p><p>He takes a deep, rattling breath and stares at his sneakers. “I need a hug. Please.”</p><p>“Okay, that I can do,” Tony says gently, and steps forward to wrap him up in a firm embrace.</p><p>They stand there like that for a long time. Tony lets him cry until his throat is hoarse and his eyes ache, swaying him gently from time to time and rubbing a hand up and down his back. Peter hasn’t cried like this since Ben. It hurts just as much now as it did then.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Peter hiccups into Tony’s shoulder. “I know I’m too old to lose it like this.”</p><p>Tony pulls away a little, cupping the back of Peter’s head in his hand as he does so. A tear slips down his nose and he doesn’t make any effort to hide it. Peter is so shocked he feels his heart stutter to a stop for half a second. He’s never, <em>ever </em>seen Tony cry. Not even when they were literally dying in space.</p><p>“No, you’re not,” Tony says with a sniff. “I lose it all the fucking time. Kid, I miss Pep so much sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe. I thought it was better for you not to see that. Maybe I was wrong.”</p><p>“If you ever need a crying buddy,” Peter says, “I’m really, really good at it.”</p><p>“I know,” Tony says with a half-grin. “I’ve seen you cry over kids cartoons.”</p><p>“Avatar: The Last Airbender is not a kids cartoon, which you’d know if you actually watched it with me,” Peter defends.</p><p>Tony pulls Peter back into his chest. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Point is, you don’t have to keep this stuff in. And...I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”</p><p>“You didn’t.” An inexplicable fresh wave of tears surges over Peter. “It’s just...it’s hard to talk about.”</p><p>Tony squeezes Peter one more time then releases him. “You know, I don’t know much about Ned. Other than him hacking my multi-million dollar suit, the little asshole.”</p><p>“You’d like him. He’s - um. He was really funny. When I first told him about my powers he wanted to know if I could lay eggs.”</p><p>“Ew. Can you?”</p><p>“<em>No! </em>”</p><p>Over dinner they talk more about Ned. And then they talk about May, and Ben. And even a little bit about Pepper. Peter learns that she was allergic to strawberries, and that she pretended to like yoga but really preferred kickboxing.</p><p>He thinks he would’ve liked her a lot.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next morning Tony sends him off to school with another suspiciously heavy packed lunch. Morgan crankily ignores him and pouts all through breakfast, but as he starts to put his shoes on she lurches over and clamps the entirety of her tiny body around his leg.</p><p>“Noooo,” she moans. “No Petey, no. No go. No.”</p><p>“Aw, Morgan,” Peter says, feeling his heart crack right down the middle. “It won’t be that long. You gotta stay here and look after Gerald for me. Can you do that?”</p><p>“No Derald,” Morgan sobs. Peter has never heard that combination of words exit her mouth and the effect is devastating.</p><p>“Come on, you love Gerald,” he says desperately. Morgan starts to wail in response, burying her face into his pant leg. Peter can’t help it. His eyes well up with tears.</p><p>“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Tony emerges from the kitchen with a heavy sigh. He sets to work peeling the shrieking baby off Peter’s leg. Peter’s too choked up to help. “Both of you? Come on.” Morgan tries to bite Tony’s arm with the full force of her five baby teeth. Tony evades her, prying the last of her fingers off Peter’s pant leg and holding her thrashing body out at arm’s length.</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says over Morgan’s screams. “I’m gonna take her into her room and distract her with Peppa Pig while you beat a hasty exit. Got it?”</p><p>“Got it,” Peter says miserably as Morgan yells “No Peppa, no, no, no Derald!” Tony marches up the stairs, still holding Morgan like a live bomb, and Peter waits until they’re safely out of sight before ducking out the door.</p><p>“Wait!” he hears behind him, as he’s almost at the end of their property. Tony is jogging towards him. He can still hear Morgan yelling at the top of her lungs, presumably contained for now in her crib.</p><p>“Did I forget something?” Peter says, wiping a sleeve across his eyes.</p><p>“Nope,” Tony replies. He crosses the last of the distance between them in a couple of stiff steps and pulls Peter into a hug.</p><p>“Um.”</p><p>“Shut up. Don’t make it weird.”</p><p>Peter reaches up to hug him back. “Okay. Shutting up.”</p><p>“How long do hugs last, anyways? Five seconds? Ten?”</p><p>“You’re making it weird.”</p><p>Tony sniffs and releases him. “Just give me an approximate for next time, you little shit.”</p><p>Peter grins. “Four point seven seconds.”</p><p>“<em>Thank you.</em> Was that so hard? Go learn things. Or not. Ugh, you’re insufferable, just get out of my sight.” Tony turns and stomps back towards the cabin.</p><p>Peter watches him go for a while before turning back down the drive. There’s no point in questioning anything Tony Stark does, so he just breaks into a little grin and lets the buoyant feeling propel him all the way to the highway.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>School doesn't suck, and it doesn't not suck. It’s just flat. Medium.</p><p>Maybe not as dull as it could be.</p><p>Gwen helps herself to a seat at his solitary table again and makes fun of his lunch. This time there are no loose Doritos. Just...a ziplock bag full of pickles, instead.</p><p>“I like pickles,” he defends, biting into one with a conspicuous <em>crunch</em>.</p><p>“I’m begging you, Parker, stop packing your own lunch. Get help. From an adult.” Gwen snags a pickle nonetheless.</p><p>“I’m an orphan,” Peter says. He really, <em>really </em>doesn’t want to get into the whole ‘Tony Stark’s adopted ward’ thing.</p><p>“Tragic. Watch a YouTube tutorial, then.”</p><p>If there’s a lone, solitary bright side to the Snap, it’s that Peter can now make orphan jokes to his heart’s content. People are a little less shocked now.</p><p>They make it through Calculus and AP Biology. Peter discovers that Gwen is not only pretty and well-liked by her classmates, but also kind of a huge nerd. He files that information away somewhere, not sure what to do with it.</p><p>The bus ride home is dusty and hot and sitting on a school bus makes him feel eleven again. For the first time ever he misses the New York City Subway. Pee smell and all.</p><p>Morgan ignores him when he gets home, folding her arms and waddling away with an indignance that would be hilarious if it wasn’t so hurtful. But the next morning she shadows his every step, sending suspicious glares his way every time he so much as goes near the front door.</p><p>Rinse and repeat. Day by day, they muddle through.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Peter has a new project.</p><p>Having something tangible to work on always makes him feel better. Something about shaping things into existence with his hands or his mind, urging himself along through each step, working on complicated knots until they moment they finally pull loose - it gives him a feeling of completeness, of <em>usefulness, </em>like he’s putting something out into the world to make up for all the things he’s taken away.</p><p>Ben had understood that. Ben had been a builder too. Peter thinks Ben would really like his new project.</p><p>It took him days to make it past the threshold of the garage door. He’d open the door and stand there, looking into the dark. Then he worked his way up to turning on the light switch. Then taking a step in, and farther, farther until he was finally standing in front of the pile of boxes.</p><p>It seemed stupid to be so afraid of a heap of cardboard boxes, but even being close to them made his heart pound and his skin go clammy.</p><p>Finally he works up the nerve to open one of the ones labelled “PETER.” It isn’t so bad. Some old hoodies he’d forgotten he owned, bedsheets from when he was a little kid. So he opens the next one, and the next one. Then he moves on to the ones labelled “TONY.”</p><p>Peter tries not to dwell on the contents of any of them, just riffling through quickly for what he needs. Once he has everything he closes the boxes back up and jogs up to his room.</p><p>Now comes the hard part.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It takes Peter a couple weeks to finish his project. He tells himself it’s because he’s busy with school, and getting the garden ready for overwintering, and helping Tony fix the weatherproofing on the exterior windows. It’s not any of those things really. It’s just because it’s hard.</p><p>He pushes through, because that’s what he does.</p><p>On a cold, shitty October morning, Peter lingers in bed until eleven a.m., ignoring the smell of breakfast wafting from the kitchen. He’s not really sure why. Kind of a toss-up between the damp chill and the finished project sitting on his desk. When he finally hauls himself out of bed, he ignores it and drags his feet down the stairs.</p><p>“It’s cold,” Peter says grumpily as he drops into his seat at the table.</p><p>“No shit,” Tony replies. He’s busily flipping omelets with Morgan perched on his hip. When Morgan sees Peter she screeches and stretches her arms out towards him.</p><p>“Petey Petey Petey-”</p><p>“Hi, Momo,” Peter says, covering a yawn with his fist.</p><p>“Petey!” Morgan shrieks indignantly, now actively trying to wiggle away from Tony.</p><p>Tony sighs. “For the love of God, Morgan. Give Dracula a minute to wake up, he just crawled out of his crypt.”</p><p>“Naw, it’s okay,” Peter says. He reaches for the baby.</p><p>“Woah, woah.” Tony turns, moving Morgan farther away from Peter. “You sure you want that? Once you take her, that’s it. She’s clingy as hell this morning.”</p><p>“Big mood,” Peter sighs. He lifts Morgan away from Tony and settles her in his lap. “Hey, cuddlebug.”</p><p>“No,” Morgan says, wrapping her pudgy arms around his neck and nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder. Peter doesn’t mind. Babies are crazy warm, like little furnaces. It helps with the bone-deep chill. He wraps his arms around her and plants a kiss on her head.</p><p>Peter watches Tony cook for a while. He cooks just about the same way he works in the lab - which is to say, erratic, disorganized, leaving a tornado of mess behind him, and the results either turn out brilliant or explode in flames. Today it’s looking like a brilliant day. The omelets smell <em>amazing</em>. (Last week there had been an exploding-in-flames incident involving chili. The splatters had made it up to the ceiling, and as the stickiest member of the household Peter had been nominated to scrub it off.)</p><p>“So what’s the plan for today?” Peter asks, yawning again. “Windows? Staining the deck?”</p><p>“Does the deck need to be stained?” Tony sounds alarmed. “How often do you need to stain decks? Is that a thing?”</p><p>“I dunno,” Peter shrugs with the shoulder that Morgan isn’t snuggled into. “Every two or three years, and we don’t know the last time it was done.”</p><p>Tony turns around and points the spatula at him. “How do you know all about deck staining, huh?”</p><p>“Ben used to paint houses and stuff as a second job during the summer. I’d go along with him and help.” Peter frowns. “I don’t think I was much good at it though.”</p><p>“Hm.” Tony turns back to the frying pan and scoops the omelets out onto plates. “Well, we’re not doing that today.”</p><p>“Aw, I’m sure I’ve improved, I was like eleven-”</p><p>“No, no,” Tony says, waving him off as he dumps the plates on the table. “We’re Netflix and chilling today.”</p><p>Peter nearly spits out his swig of orange juice. “Excuse - ugh - <em>what?”</em></p><p>“Rhodey told me you’d think I was cool if I said that.”</p><p>“Oh, <em>god</em>.” Peter smacks his hand over his face. “Please promise me you will <em>never </em>say that again.”</p><p>“How much is it worth to you?” Tony says with a wide, shit-eating grin. “Ten bucks? Twenty bucks?”</p><p>“Are you seriously trying to extort me after causing me emotional trauma? What do you even need ten bucks for?”</p><p>“I don’t know. A banana.”</p><p>Peter bursts out laughing. “Okay, you’re redeemed,” he says through giggles. “That was great.”</p><p>“I know,” Tony says offhandedly, although the corners of his lips are quirking up ever so slightly. “Now make your sister eat some breakfast.”</p><p>“Come on, buddy, let’s have some yummy eggs,” Peter coaxes, trying to detach Morgan from his front. She whines and grabs handfuls of his t-shirt. Peter shrugs and takes a bite of omelet. “Your loss. Oh, wow, these eggs are soooo good. Hey, Tony, can I eat Morgan’s share too? She doesn’t want any.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Tony says with a frown. “These eggs are really good. If Morgan’s not going to eat hers, then I want them.”</p><p>Morgan’s head perks up with interest.</p><p>“Aw, come on,” Peter whines. “I can’t even have one bite?”</p><p>“Tell you what,” Tony says. “You can have one bite of the eggs if I can have all of Morgan’s fruit.”</p><p>“Noooo!” Morgan says indignantly, squirming around in Peter’s lap until she’s facing her plate of eggs. She pulls it towards herself possessively and shovels a handful into her mouth.</p><p>After breakfast, Morgan attaches to Peter again and won’t let go. He tries in vain to help Tony clean the kitchen one-handed until Tony shoos him away.</p><p>“It’s fine, kid, you’re doing me a solid here. Not much I can get done with a twenty-two pound barnacle stuck to my chest.”</p><p>“I don’t mind,” Peter says absently, bouncing Morgan up and down a little. “I kinda needed this today.”</p><p>“Suit yourself,” Tony says. He turns around, wipes the counter once, then puts the cloth down and marches towards Peter and Morgan and pulls them both into a hug.</p><p>This is a new thing Tony’s been doing lately. Hugs. Always at completely random times, always a little bit awkward, and Peter’s pretty sure if he had a timer he could confirm the hugs always last four point seven seconds, like Tony’s counting down in his head. It’s weird, and kind of funny, and also really nice.</p><p>“This is nice,” Peter says, closing his eyes and returning the hug with his free arm.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Tony scoffs. But this time he lets the hug go on a bit longer. Maybe six point seven seconds. He pulls away and punches Peter lightly on the arm. “Anyways, we doing this Netflix and not chilling thing? We can watch that cartoon about the bald kid with the arrow on his head. Monk Caillou.”</p><p>“I honestly can’t even parse everything wrong with that sentence. You’re literally killing me.”</p><p>Tony snaps his fingers in Peter’s face. “Come on. Yes? No? One-time offer here.”</p><p>Peter takes a deep breath. “Um, I actually thought there was something else we could do today?”</p><p>“We’re not staining the deck. I don’t care about the deck. If all the wood rots we’ll just make the next deck out of metal.”</p><p>“No, no, not that. I’m...I’ll be right back, okay?”</p><p>Tony flaps a hand at him and ambles towards the couch. As Peter carries Morgan up the stairs he can hear Tony flopping down and probably taking the good spot.</p><p>Two minutes later he’s standing nervously at the entrance to the living room, with the completed project behind his back.</p><p>Tony sits up, his quest to take up as much couch space as possible forgotten. “What’ve you got there, Pete?”</p><p>Peter swallows and moves a bit closer. “You know how, um, a while ago we talked about Ned? And then we talked a bit about May and Ben, and you told me some stuff about Pepper?”</p><p>“Yes,” Tony says slowly, brow furrowing.</p><p>“It was really nice,” Peter says. “To talk about them, I mean. Not that we never talk about them. It’s just that, like...we always talk about how much we miss them, but it was kind of fun to just...remember stuff about them, I guess? Not sad stuff. Normal stuff.”</p><p>Tony is silent, his expression inscrutable. Peter barrels on. It’s too late to stop now.</p><p>“So I just kind of thought...I don’t know. I think maybe we’ve been avoiding it. Because it hurts. But it doesn’t have to hurt all the time, you know? I know May and Ben wouldn’t want that. I think Pepper wouldn’t, either. Not that...not that I ever knew her very well, really, but you used to talk about her a lot, and...” Peter is officially out of coherent words. He brings the project out from behind his back and thrusts it at Tony.</p><p>Tony takes the book from him slowly, carefully. It’s leather-bound, simple. The nicest and most understated one Peter could find at the Salvation Army in Gloversville, and then he’d fixed it up a little with some leather polish Gwen had lent him. Tony starts to flip through the pages, still completely silent.</p><p>“Where did you get these?” he finally asks, finger resting on a picture of Pepper smiling over a bowl of ice-cream, hair blowing in the summer breeze.</p><p>“The boxes in the garage,” Peter says. “I promise I didn’t look at any of your other stuff. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry-”</p><p>“It’s fine,” Tony breathes. He turns the page, and there’s one of Ben and May, arms around each other at the end of a pier. On the facing page is a snapshot of Tony and Rhodey. Fresh out of college, making peace signs as they hang out of the back of a friend’s Jeep Cherokee. Under that is a picture of Happy snoring away in an airplane seat.</p><p>“It’s a family album,” Peter explains lamely. “I thought...um, I thought we could show Morgan sometime? If that’s okay?”</p><p>Tony doesn’t answer, intently studying an image of a dark-haired woman feeding wedding cake to a sandy-haired man.</p><p>“Those are my parents,” Peter supplies. The silence is starting to freak him out. “Is it weird that I put them in there? I don’t really remember them that well, but-”</p><p>Tony takes a very deep breath, then pats the couch next to him. Peter sits.</p><p>“Hey, Morgan,” Tony says, poking her in the tummy. “Wanna see something cool?”</p><p>Morgan momentarily untangles herself from Peter, looking at Tony curiously. “Peppa?” she says.</p><p>Tony laughs. “Close enough.” He points to a picture of Pepper. Pepper is heavily pregnant with Morgan, sitting with her feet propped up on an ottoman. She’s looking right at the camera, caught in a laugh that crinkles up the corners of her eyes, middle finger raised up high.</p><p>“See that? That’s your mama.”</p><p>Morgan pokes the picture with a sticky finger. “Daddy?”</p><p>“Mama,” Tony corrects. “It’s okay. You’ll get it.” He puts an arm around Peter, pulling him closer. “And look, that’s your Aunt May and Uncle Ben.”</p><p>Ben had been a builder, just like Peter. They’d fixed neighbour’s leaky porch stoops, rebuilt DVD players salvaged from the dumpster, made tiny casts for pigeons with broken legs. And they’d talked a lot about how there was no such thing as <em>broken, </em>really. Just things that needed varying degrees of fixing.</p><p>One of Ben’s favourite things to say was that everyone had the power to put a little good back out into the world, and the responsibility to try. After his death, and again after May’s, Peter had often wondered what the point of that was. Sometimes things were just so broken that no amount of good could make a difference.</p><p>Leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder and watching Morgan squeal and point to a picture of her Uncle Rhodey, Peter feels like he’s maybe starting to understand Ben just a bit better these days.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi darlings, hope you are all safe and healthy and doing well. Thank you SO MUCH for all the lovely comments, kudos and encouragement, I can't tell you how much it means to me, even though I have fallen tragically behind on replying. Just know that I read them all and it makes me smile huge.</p><p>Big changes!! Peter's in school! We meet Gwen, with a couple more fun comic book characters to come! Tony is figuring out how to feel emotions like a real boy, good for him! Let me know what you thought, and I can't wait to put up the next chapter &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Pilgrims and prodigals creeping toward the dawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I keep forgetting to mention this but I drew myself some really dumb fanart of my own fic, WHAT UP. Anyways if y'all wanna see it, it's Peter and Morgan meeting Gerald and it's on my tumblr: https://sturionic.tumblr.com/post/618771624894873600/peter-meets-gerald-for-the-first-time-in-chapter-4</p><p>(P.S. someone please tell me how to link stuff, help an old woman out)</p><p>Anyways thank you all for waiting so patiently and so much love to all y'all ;_; &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Sugar bear! In here!”</p><p>Rhodes follows the voice in through the front door, to a blanket fort set up in the living room. He lifts a sheet corner to reveal...a gigantic pile of stuffed animals.</p><p>“Uh...Tones?”</p><p>“Yep, under here.” Tony sits up, sending a small avalanche of plush toys tumbling off him. “You coming in?”</p><p>“Yeah, what the hell,” Rhodes says, letting Tony pull him down into the pile.</p><p>“Hey Rhodey,” Peter says, then sets to work burying him under the toys.</p><p>“Is Morgan in here too, or have the two of you finally lost it?” Rhodes asks.</p><p>Peter pokes a little lump wriggling around under the stuffed animals, and the responding squeal answers Rhodes’ question.</p><p>“We’re trying to show Morgan how fun stuffed animals are,” Peter explains. “Right, marshmallow face?” He pokes Morgan again, eliciting a squeaky giggle.</p><p>“God, are you sure you aren’t related? That kid is your <em>clone.”</em></p><p>Tony frowns at Rhodes. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, honey plum.”</p><p>Rhodes grabs a small stuffed elephant and bops Tony in the face with it. “You stubborn jackass. Anyways, I’ve never met a baby who didn’t like stuffed animals. What’s wrong with yours?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Tony says. “My daughter is perfect in every single way. Exemplary among babies. Bright, shining hope of the future.”</p><p>As if on cue, Morgan wriggles her way out of the stuffed animal pile and grins at Rhodes. “Baby,” she says.</p><p>“Oh, yes you are,” Rhodes coos, reaching over to lift her up. “Look at all those teeth, someone’s been busy growing those, huh?”</p><p>Morgan comes free of the pile of toys and launches into Rhodes’ chest. Suddenly something heavy and metallic thumps against his sternum.</p><p>“Ow,” Rhodes wheezes. Grasped in Morgan’s tiny fists, blackened by years of abuse and grease, is a 3/4 wrench.</p><p>“Rhodey, meet Baby,” Peter sighs.</p><p>“Baby!” Morgan repeats, cuddling the wrench close, as Rhodes dissolves into a fit of laughter.</p><p>“Oh my <em>god</em>,” he wheezes again, although this time more because of the laughing than the pain in his sternum.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Tony mutters, hurling a plush platypus at Rhodes’ head. “Look, we’re trying. Pete and I have been playing with these damn things all morning to show her how cool they are so that she’ll ditch the wrench.”</p><p>“We’re too late,” Peter says solemnly. “She’s already imprinted on it. I think Tony just wanted an excuse to make a fort.”</p><p>“I don’t need an excuse to make a fort. I could go out back and make a way better fort than this in an hour flat.” Tony puts his hand on the back of Peter’s head and pushes him down into the heap of plushies. He crawls out the front of the blanket fort. “If you need me, I’ll be out fortifying Gerald’s stable. The llama is the only damn thing around here that doesn’t back-talk me these days.”</p><p>“We’re sorry, Dad,” Rhodes calls out after him. “Would you make us some grilled cheese sandwiches?”</p><p>“Fine,” he hears Tony call back, “but <em>only </em>because now I want grilled cheese sandwiches.”</p><p>Peter helps Rhodes up and scoops Morgan into his arms, Baby and all. Rhodes follows him into the kitchen and pours a cold glass of milk from the fridge, fully intending to watch unhelpfully as Tony makes them lunch.</p><p>“Just for a minute, monkey butt,” Peter is saying patiently, holding out his hand. Morgan shakes her head, lip jutting out in a hilarious pout. “Come on, we need to give Baby a bath.”</p><p>Morgan looks suspiciously up at Peter, then towards the stairs.</p><p>“No, not in the bathtub,” Peter says. “We can give Baby a bath in the sink, right here.”</p><p>“You rust up my wrench and I’ll drown you in that sink,” Tony calls from where he’s flipping grilled cheeses at the stove.</p><p>“Ah, parenting at its finest,” Rhodes says, taking a long swig of his milk.</p><p>Peter frowns. “I’m not putting it in the water! I thought I’d do a vinegar soak to get some more of the grease off.”</p><p>“What, so now we’re just accepting the wrench as part of the family?”</p><p>Peter ignores Tony. Tony can almost <em>hear </em>him rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Don’t roll your eyes at me, you little shit.”</p><p>“Shit,” Morgan agrees solemnly, finally handing Baby over to Peter.</p><p>Rhodes shoots Tony a wide grin that is somehow three times as annoying as any snarky comment would be, then turns to Peter. “So, how’s school, kid?”</p><p>“Fine,” Peter says dismissively. He busies himself filling a bucket with vinegar in clear signal that that particular line of conversation will lead nowhere.</p><p>Rhodes shoots another significant look at Tony, but this time Tony just shrugs back helplessly.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Amidst the sleeplessness and general awkwardness of last year’s winter, Tony hadn’t really noticed a change in Peter’s demeanour - but this year, he does. He feels like maybe to anyone who didn’t know Peter it would be subtle. It’s a delayed reaction time when Tony asks him a question. A little drag in his steps, a tendency to get lost in thought and stare into space until something pulls his attention back to Earth.</p><p>“I’m worried about the kid,” he confides to Natasha, who has taken to showing up unannounced every now and again as the cold, dreary November days turn into cold, dreary December days.</p><p>The easy comfort between them had taken an alarmingly short time to restore. But then, even if he hadn’t agreed with her methods, he’d always understood things from her point of view; she had always just been trying her best to keep her family together.</p><p>“Which one? You’re always worried about your kids,” Natasha teases. “Rhodey told me about your panic call last week.”</p><p>Tony frowns. “A head injury is an exceptional circumstance.”</p><p>“Morgan tripped and bumped her head on the very soft corner of the couch. It takes a lot more than that to mess up a baby, trust me. They’re surprisingly durable.”</p><p>“Peter was freaking out,” Tony defends. “When Peter freaks out, I freak out.”</p><p>“Right, because Peter is the paragon of cool-headed logic you should be taking your cues from.” Natasha smiles fondly and looks out the window, where Morgan and Peter are playing in the snow with Gerald. Peter has managed to train Gerald to pull Morgan around on a little sled. He’s also decked Morgan out in a helmet, knee pads, and a coat with enough padding that she’d probably bounce if someone pushed her off the top of a building.</p><p>She takes a sip of her coffee, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. “He does look a little different lately, doesn’t he?”</p><p>Tony feels a surge of relief that he’s not imagining it, followed quickly by a tidal wave of dismay that he’s not imagining it. He folds his arms on the kitchen table and buries his head into them, heaving a long sigh. “God, this is exhausting. What was my life even like before I was obsessed with these damn kids? I’m going gray, Nat, look.” He tugs on a lock of hair near his temples for demonstrative effect, then lets his head drop back down. “I swear to you, I wasn’t even this stressed out about Ultron.”</p><p>“I know,” Natasha says, with no small amount of amusement.</p><p>“Listen to this,” Tony plows on, determined to make her understand just how insane he is. “Nat, you need to look at my fridge. What do you see on my fridge?”</p><p>“I see that your daughter is heavily inspired by Pollock, with a hint of Picasso. You want a recipe for homemade edible finger paint? I’ve got a good one.”</p><p>“Yes please. Tell me what else you see on there.”</p><p>“Oh, good for Peter, he got 100% on his Physics test.”</p><p>“But <em>Natasha</em>,” Tony whines, “He is a <em>genius</em>. He’s building college-level stuff with me in the lab for fun on the weekends. Kid could probably ace every test in that shitty school of his with his eyes closed.”</p><p>“And yet,” Natasha says, “you put his test on the fridge.”</p><p>“I put his test on the fridge,” Tony says sullenly.</p><p>“Watching you agonize over parenthood is so funny,” Natasha says, smiling over the rim of her cup. “Just give up already and become the soccer dad you were always meant to be.”</p><p>“I will <em>not.</em> I am a genius, billionaire-”</p><p>“Superdad, philanthropist.”</p><p>“Fuck off,” Tony mutters into his arms.</p><p>Natasha reaches across the table and cards her fingers through his hair soothingly. “Don’t worry too much about Peter. He’s got that thermoregulation thing going on, he’s bound to be a little lethargic. You just have to trust that he’ll come to you if he needs you.”</p><p>“Okay,” Tony says with a defeated sigh. “I can do that.”</p><p>So Tony watches, and waits. He tries to be inconspicuous as he buys extra sweaters for Peter to leave in his room, casually dumps thick blankets on top of the Peter as he sits and reads by the fire, and makes every soup recipe he knows in rotation in an attempt to pack a few more calories into the kid’s skinny frame. Peter doesn’t seem to register any of it, drifting through each day like he’s not exactly sure where he is.</p><p>Tony catches him one day staring quizzically at a piece of paper clutched in both fists.</p><p>“Whatcha got there, kid?” Tony says, sitting gingerly down next to him.</p><p>“Ugh,” Peter says, although he sounds puzzled more than anything. Tony reaches over and works the paper out of his grasp. It’s a Calculus test, with a big red D marked on the bottom accompanied by a note: <em>See me after class. -Mr. S</em></p><p>“Did you see him after class?” Tony asks.</p><p>“No,” Peter says vaguely.</p><p>“Well, that’s okay,” Tony reassures him. “Look at that, your first failing grade. Kind of a milestone, wouldn’t you agree? We’ll put it on the fridge.”</p><p>A beat passes. “Don’t put it on the fridge,” Peter says with a frown. (It’s too late. Tony has already crossed the room and stuck it up with a Finding Nemo magnet.)</p><p>“Surprised you let me get away with that,” Tony remarks, sitting back down next to Peter. “I’m old and slow, you totally could’ve eaten the test before I could finish reaching for it.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says morosely. “I’m off my game lately.”</p><p>“I’ve noticed.”</p><p>“You have?” Peter peers owlishly up at Tony.</p><p>Tony nods. “What’s going on, kiddo?”</p><p>“I think it’s like, the thermoregulation thing,” Peter says with a weary sigh. “Winter’s always sucked since I got bitten. I always feel so sleepy.”</p><p>“So it’s just a physical thing? School isn’t getting you down or anything?” Tony prods.</p><p>“Nah, school’s fine. It’s kinda nice to have a fresh start. No one knows I’m a loser yet, so no one really messes with me like at Midtown.”</p><p>Tony blinks at Peter. “Excuse me? Kids messed with you at Midtown?”</p><p>Peter rolls his eyes. “Well, duh.”</p><p>“What do you mean, well, duh?” Tony demands, affronted.</p><p>“I mean...look at me,” Peter gestures to himself. “Obviously I wasn’t in the top tier of Midtown’s social hierarchy.”</p><p>“You went to a school <em>for nerds</em>,” Tony argues. “What the hell kind of social hierarchy was there, anyways? What could those kids possibly have given you hell about?”</p><p>Peter suddenly looks uncomfortable. “Um...there was always something, I guess. Even after you sent in the paperwork to make the internship official...I always kinda thought that might give me a little boost, but then this one kid kept saying I was lying about it and that kind of caught on, I guess.”</p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve come to your school and announced to the whole cafeteria that you were my intern and that the rest of them were just jealous little shits who wouldn’t amount to anything in life.”</p><p>Peter watches him patiently, waiting for him to think the idea all the way through.</p><p>“Yeah, I guess I can see how that might’ve made it worse,” Tony admits. “But you’d...you’d tell me now, right? If anyone was messing with you?” He grips Peter’s shoulder, feeling a strange sort of desperation as he waits for the kid’s answer.</p><p>Peter frowns again. “I mean...I guess? On the condition you wouldn’t do anything weird.”</p><p>“What do you mean, you guess?” Tony wills his heart not to start actually pounding, because he knows Peter would probably hear it.</p><p>“Um...” Peter stares down at his hands. “Why is it so important to you?”</p><p>Tony has no idea how to articulate the thoughts ricocheting around inside his skull. He doesn’t know. Or maybe he does. Maybe it’s because it scares him when he has no idea how to help, no matter how small the problem is. Maybe he’s scared of sending his kids out into the world scarred with the same brand of Stark neurosis that marked him for life.</p><p><em>You’re scared of failing as a father,</em> Pepper’s voice cuts through the maelstrom, crystal clear. He pushes it back to where it came from.</p><p>“Because you’re important to me,” he manages to choke out.</p><p>The cloudiness in Peter’s expression clears immediately and he looks up, his impression impossibly hopeful and sweet. “Yeah?”</p><p>Tony is immediately struck with a retort - <em>how have you not clued in on that already, dumbass </em>- but he clamps his mouth shut around it. The part of his brain planted by his mother and cultivated by Pepper slowly works its way to the surface. Of <em>course </em>a kid who has lost every significant adult in his life would need a little reassurance every now and again, just for the sake of it.</p><p>He takes a deep breath. “Yep. I love you. You and Morgan are the most important things in my life.”</p><p>And there it is. No quips or qualifiers, just the plain truth.</p><p>“Oh,” Peter says, his casual tone betrayed by the enormous grin taking over his face. “I love you too.”</p><p>“Yep,” Tony says again, feeling sort of like he wants to flee from the whole situation, but also like nothing could make him move from his spot.</p><p>“Can I hug you?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>Peter hugs him with what Tony assumes is a moderated level of his strength, but it feels rib-cracking all the same. Tony does his best to match it.</p><p>“I’ll tell you stuff,” Peter says into his shoulder.</p><p>“I won’t be weird about it,” Tony says, then pauses. “I’ll try not to be weird. Tell me if I’m being weird.”</p><p>The next day, Peter texts him: <em>I have a friend at school. Her name’s Gwen. </em></p><p>Tony stares at the message for a minute, his brain running through endless simulations. Would inviting her over be too overbearing? Yeah, probably. Teasing Peter about a potential girlfriend is out. He doesn’t even know if Peter likes girls. They’ve never had that conversation. Do they need to have that conversation? Does Tony bring it up, or wait for Peter to bring it up? Maybe there’s a tactful way to say “I love you no matter who you date so feel free to come out to me if you ever need to” without actually saying it?</p><p>“You’re spiraling, Stark,” he mutters to himself, and punches in a reply.</p><p>
  <em>Cool.</em>
</p><p>He frowns at the phone screen, then sends a block of thumbs up and sunglasses emojis. Better.</p><p>Peter’s reply comes instantly. A nerd emoji, and a heart emoji.</p><p>“Look, Morgan,” he says, showing her the phone screen. “Your teenage brother shared something with me, of his own volition. That means I’m cool.”</p><p>“No,” Morgan says, reaching for the phone.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Tony argues, appalled. “If you could read, you’d be way more impressed.” He leans down so that his face is right next to hers. “You’ll tell me stuff when you’re a teenager too, right? I wanna know all of it. Boyfriends, girlfriends, non-binary friends, all the latest gossip. You hear me? I’m going to be the coolest dad out there. You and your friends will invite me to go to the mall with you, I’ll be that fun.”</p><p>“Daddy,” Morgan squeals, and kisses him on the nose. “Daddy, play. Play!”</p><p>Tony’s eyes well up abruptly. “Thanks, kid.” He lifts Morgan out of her high chair. “I’m taking that as a binding promise. I’ll remind you of this conversation when you’re older.”</p><p>“Play monkey, Daddy,” Morgan insists.</p><p>“Okay,” Tony agrees with a sniffle, even though “monkey” is his least favourite game and nearly always ends with him fucking up his back somehow. “You little extortionist.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Natasha shows up a few more times that winter. Sometimes she’s bright and playful and challenges Peter to Mario Kart beatdowns. Sometimes she arrives with distant sad eyes when Peter is at school, and those are the days when Tony lets her make lunch for Morgan and put her down for a nap afterwards while he catches up on Stark Industries paperwork.</p><p>Once she stops by and leaves two little wrapped gifts - a book for Peter, a stuffed glow worm for Morgan - and Tony realizes later in the evening that it’s Christmas Day.</p><p>“Should we have done Christmas?” he asks Peter a few days afterwards, as they sit in front of the fireplace. Peter has perked up significantly lately. Tony likes to think it’s the soup.</p><p>“I’m Jewish,” Peter says in a deadpan voice.</p><p>“You’re what?” Tony sits up abruptly. Peter sees the panicked look on his face and laughs.</p><p>“Kidding, kidding. Well, not kidding about being Jewish, but Aunt May was Catholic so we celebrated both.”</p><p>Tony flops back against the couch. “Do you get some kind of sick pleasure out of making me feel terrible?”</p><p>“Yes,” Peter says with a grin. “It’s really funny.”</p><p>Tony snorts and kicks at Peter from the other end of the couch. “Answer my question, you shit-disturber. We can still do Hannukkah. Or Christmas. Or both.”</p><p>Peter kicks him back, then drops his feet into Tony’s lap and leans his head back against the arm of the couch.</p><p>“There’s this Jewish thing, avelut,” he says, gazing up contemplatively at the ceiling. “It’s like...these different periods of mourning you observe. First there’s the aninut right after the death, then there’s the seven-day shiva, then thirty days of sheloshim. When you lose a parent you stay in mourning for eleven months.”</p><p>Tony doesn’t know what to say, so he settles for resting a hand on Peter’s ankle.</p><p>“After Ben died, May and I sat the whole seven days of shiva, and after we even made a couple trips to the synagogue to say kaddish and everything. It’s not like we were ever super strict about traditions before but it kind of felt like we were sending Ben off the right way, you know? Anyways, May always said she liked avelut a lot better than Catholic mourning. It really resonated with her. When she died I couldn’t really sit shiva or anything, because...well, you know, we were in space, but I wanted to at least do the eleven months of shanah for her.”</p><p>“And shanah is...”<br/><br/>“Just a general mourning period. Reflecting on all the stuff your parent did for you and all the things they taught you. You’re supposed to avoid festive occasions.”</p><p>Tony frowns. “But the anniversary was in September, so eleven months would’ve been August.”</p><p>“I know,” Peter says. “And I know there’s like, a lot of really important traditional reasons for it being eleven months. I just...kinda wanted the extra time to reflect, that’s all.”</p><p>“I get it,” Tony says gently. “I think a lot of people have been modifying their traditions over the past year.”</p><p>“Anyways, the point is that avelut has to end sometime,” Peter continues. “You’re not supposed to mourn indefinitely. At some point you have to, like, actively finish the mourning period and keep going with your life.”</p><p>“What does that mean?”</p><p>“I don’t really know,” Peter says with a little smile. “I’m kind of making it up as I go. Like I said, we weren’t exactly the most observant Jews.”</p><p>“Hence the ham sandwich addiction,” Tony says, pinching Peter’s ankle.</p><p>“Yup,” Peter grins. “Exactly.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>That spring they celebrate Passover. Tony and Peter spend a full day Googling the seder and making to-do lists before they start cooking. Morgan delights in the search for chametz, cramming stray Cheerios found between couch cushions into her mouth with abandon. Rhodes comes early on the day of to help them cook, reading steps off the checklist and mixing the charoset while Peter arranges the seder plate. They eat seated on pillows around the coffee table. Morgan asks the four questions (meaning Rhodes reads the questions for her, and she repeats whatever words catch her interest) and Peter does his best to answer them from memory.</p><p><em>May the source of peace grant peace to us, </em>they all recite together at the end of the meal, <em>to the Jewish people, and to the entire world. Baruch atah Adonai.</em></p><p>In the seven days following, a kosher diet turns out to be pretty easy for Morgan, who is in a phase of consuming almost exclusively fruit and any flavour of yogurt she can get her hands on, and for Peter who is old hat at the whole thing and has a stack of truly inspired recipes including matzah up his sleeve. Tony mostly lives on scrambled eggs and latkes.</p><p>He thinks often about his question to Peter.</p><p>
  <em>What does that mean?</em>
</p><p>Tony had always just assumed he would mourn Pepper for the rest of his life. If he hadn’t had the kids to think about, he might not have had much of a life to speak of. He can’t imagine he would’ve been motivated to do much more than drink himself into an early grave. But now there’s this whole...<em>future</em>, stretching ahead of him. Peter will graduate next year and go off to new adventures at college. Morgan will start kindergarten a frighteningly short time after that. It’s a future he’s scared and excited for in equal measures, and he wants to be there for every second of it.</p><p>Where does Pepper fit into that future? When does his life stop being ‘life without Pepper’ and become something new? Does that ever even happen?</p><p>Not for the first time, Tony wishes desperately he could ask May Parker for advice. There’s no handbook out there for ‘single parenting an enhanced teenager after the death of your spouse,’ and if there was May would have been the one to write it. He often lies between May and Pepper’s headstones asking them rhetorical questions and trying to picture the answers in his mind.</p><p>Sometimes he can imagine Pepper’s well enough, but all he ever gets from May is silence.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>On a bright, chilly spring afternoon, Tony makes the trip out to New York City for the first time since Peter’s adoption. Peter doesn’t ask him what he’ll be doing in the city and he doesn’t volunteer any information, because in truth he’s not really sure himself. At first Tony just drives around for a while, past a tall gleaming tower in Manhattan and a beat-up old apartment building in Queens.</p><p>And then, towards the beginning of the evening, he finds himself parking on the corner of Prince and Mott.</p><p>The Old St. Patrick’s Cathedral feels just as familiar as it had the last time he’d stepped foot inside over forty years ago, clutching his mother’s gloved hand and staring up at the big round chandeliers that floated between stone pillars. The chandeliers still seem as far away as they ever have. The smell of frankincense and oak and burning wax drifts thickly in the air around him as he takes a seat in one of the crowded pews. It’s the most humanity he’s been around at once time since the Decimation, but as the evening mass begins and everyone sits in practiced unison it feels more like he’s part of a hive than a crowd; moving and speaking together along with the ghosts of generations of people who had moved and spoken in the same ways since the basilica’s construction.</p><p>Tony Stark has never believed in God, and likely never will, but it’s not so hard for him to believe that May Parker might be here; that he might be reciting the Lord’s Prayer along with an imprint of her spirit left in this church or another. “Forgive us our trespasses,” he murmurs, hoping that she could someday forgive his, wherever she’s gone. Tears slip unbidden down his face as the words stamped on his childhood self pour out of his mouth. <em>As we await the blessed hope.</em></p><p>“Go in peace,” the priest says at last, but Tony lingers until almost everyone has filed out.</p><p>He listens as the murmurs and goodbyes of the departing congregants fade into a tenuous quiet. The flickering candlelight glowing along the stained glass windows and bending through wisps of incense creates a close and heady atmosphere that makes him feel like if he waits long enough, maybe an apparition will speak to him.</p><p>“Tony.”</p><p>He doesn’t look up. “Cap.”</p><p>Steve hovers for a moment, then takes a tentative seat next to him, the pew creaking with his bulk. They sit there side-by-side and lose themselves in a long heavy silence that stretches until the only thing left in the antechamber to watch them is the painting behind the altar.</p><p>“I used to come here,” Steve explains. His words settle oddly in the perfumed air. “My mama...”</p><p>“Mine too,” Tony says.</p><p>“I never got to meet her,” Steve says lowly. “Your mother.”</p><p>A long time ago maybe Tony would have been relieved to hear that Steve Rogers didn’t have memories of Maria that Tony himself would never know. The possessive urge to delineate between <em>mine </em>and <em>his, </em>the drive to set himself apart from Captain America that had permeated most of Tony’s life - it had more or less evaporated after Tony had watched his parents die on a grainy old screen, and he’d realized that losing Steve hurt more than losing to him.</p><p>“She’d have liked you,” Tony says, and he knows it’s true. Maria Stark had believed with all her heart in the same kind of goodness that Steve would never stop reaching for.</p><p>Steve folds his arms against his chest and leans back against the pew. “What are you doing here, Tony?”</p><p>Tony takes a deep breath. Perhaps more than anyone, Steve understands how to plant himself like a stone in a riverbed, let grief and loss and sorrow flow around his legs as he stands strong against everything that wants to carry him away.</p><p>“Mourning,” he says. Then after a moment, he adds: “I don’t really...I don’t know if I’m doing it right. If I’ve ever done it right.”</p><p>Steve looks steadily ahead. “I know the feeling.”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know, you seem to have it figured out,” Tony says, a hint of bitterness creeping into his tone.</p><p>Steve lets out a long breath. “I couldn’t figure out how to mourn someone who was still there.”</p><p>Tony has no reply to that. There’s a not-insignificant part of him that wants to slam Steve against the pew and demand once again <em>why weren’t we together when he came, why couldn’t we stop it</em>, and there’s another part that knows it wouldn’t bring Pepper back.</p><p>“How about mourning someone you didn’t even know?” Tony eventually says instead, training his eyes on the candlelit altar.</p><p>“Hm,” Steve replies. “I guess you learn about them from the people who loved them, and go from there.” His eyes are far away.</p><p>“And what about the love of your life?”</p><p>“I’ll tell you when I’ve solved that one,” Steve says, very, very quietly.</p><p>Tony had assumed Steve was talking about Peggy Carter, about coming back to realize that she was still alive but didn’t remember him, that the Peggy he knew was gone. Now he’s not so sure.</p><p>“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tony says.</p><p>“I’m sorry for everything,” Steve replies.</p><p>Tony quietly gets to his feet and without a second glance walks out of the church, towards the children he’s suddenly desperate to get back to - the life he’s built from the dirt - and leaves Steve Rogers sitting alone, strong and solid as the oak pew underneath him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Morgan and Peter are watching a movie together in the living room, both so enthralled they don’t hear Tony come in. They’re both in their pyjamas and it’s so far past Morgan’s bedtime that Tony assumes she’s been put to bed and then woken back up again. He leans against the doorframe and watches them.</p><p>Morgan’s posture is so preternaturally straight for a child her age, her hands steady as she clutches Baby in her lap. In that way she’s the opposite of Tony who can’t sit still to save his live, Tony who always has a hand twitching or foot tapping, Tony who sprawls to take up every bit of available space. The way she sits, contained and focused with her lips pursed just so, feels like a blow directly to Tony’s chest. Rhodes and Natasha must see it too. The little seeds Pepper planted blooming in their beloved child.</p><p>“Tony,” Peter says sheepishly, finally noticing him. “Sorry. Morgan woke up and then neither of us could sleep, so...”</p><p>Tony crosses the room and kneels next to Peter, cupping his jaw with both hands. He searches Peter’s face and wonders - where did those wide, trusting eyes come from, the perpetually worried little pinch in his lips? Was that May? Or Ben, or Richard, or Mary? Did Peter himself know, or was that knowledge lost with the rest of the Parker family?</p><p>“Tony?” Peter says again, sounding a little wary.</p><p>Tony leans forward and kisses Peter’s forehead firmly, then releases him. “Go to bed.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter agrees, easygoing as ever. “Want me to take the gremlin with me?”</p><p>“I got her. Thanks for looking after her, Pete.”</p><p>“Sure, sure.” Peter yawns and gives Tony an affectionate sort of headbutt on the shoulder before hauling himself to his feet and trudging up the stairs.</p><p>Tony pulls Morgan into his lap, wrench and all. She nestles against his chest, eyes still fixed on the flickering screen.</p><p>“Your mama would be so happy and proud if she could see you, sweetheart,” Tony says into her soft fresh-smelling scalp.</p><p>“Mama,” Morgan agrees sleepily, and as she drifts off Tony lets himself find Pepper again in the curve of her tiny cheek and the arch of her feather-light brows.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>May the source of peace grant peace to us / </em>
</p><p>
  <em>as we await the blessed hope.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Just want to note here that I'm not religious, just really fascinated by cultural traditions and how they connect us to people around us and to the past. This chapter was a bit of a creative departure for me, and I really enjoyed exploring the feelings that go with trying to understand your roots as a way to understand yourself. (I hope you guys enjoyed it too!)</p><p>I did my best to research both Judaism and Catholicism and portray them respectfully in this chapter, with the caveat that Peter and Ben are based on my oldest family friends who identify as more culturally Jewish and use ceremony to connect with their heritage rather than having any particular belief in God. So as a result, Peter isn't really traditionally Jewish and doesn't necessarily follow things by the letter (see: the youngest child of said family friends asking his sister for a package of fancy bacon for Christmas shortly after they had finished celebrating Hanukkah. Not kidding, this happened, and she actually bought it for him and he enjoyed it immensely.)</p><p>All that said, although I've attended my share of seders and bar mitzvahs and weddings, we're Canadian - so if I've misrepresented anything about the American Jewish experience, please please please let me know in the comments and I will make corrections ASAP!</p><p>MUCH LOVE XOXO and I will try my very best not to take this long with the next chapter. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. We'll find out in the long run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You are so annoying. Why are you so annoying?”</p><p>“I’m not annoying. I’m funny and smart and extremely goodlooking. My fashion sense is impeccable.” Tony is wearing jeans, sneakers and a beat-up baseball cap and doesn’t seem to see the irony in that statement.</p><p>“What does that have to do with anything?”</p><p>“It means you have to trust my judgment.”</p><p>“Uuuuuggghhh,” Peter groans, rattling at the car door handle. “Let me out of here.”</p><p>“Not until you agree you’re going to let me teach you to drive,” Tony says placidly, reclining his seat to indicate they could be there for a long time.</p><p>“You can’t just keep me in this car all day,” Peter counters. “I have school.”</p><p>Tony laughs. “Your grades are perfect, you can miss a day.”</p><p>“I could literally rip this door off its hinges,” Peter says desperately.</p><p>“Ooh, and blow your secret identity in front of your classmates? Bold move, Parker. I like it.”</p><p>“Tony,” Peter tries, as a last ditch attempt, “You’ve seen me play Grand Theft Auto, haven’t you? Do you really want to unleash <em>that </em>on the roads of Fulton County?”</p><p>“Man, I could go for a burger,” Tony says, patting his stomach. “What do you think, Morguna? Should we take Petey out for hamburgers and then drive around another couple hours?”</p><p>“Hambuhgah,” Morgan chirps from the backseat.</p><p>Peter makes another long noise of exasperation and kicks petulantly at the glove box, not quite hard enough to leave a dent.</p><p>“<em>Fine</em>,” he says acidly. “You can try and teach me to drive. You’ll be sorry. The car’s gonna get totaled.”</p><p>“Happy first day of senior year,” Tony says, leaning over and putting him in a headlock so he can smack a kiss on Peter’s temple as FRIDAY unlocks the doors. “Be good and remember to always wrap it up.”</p><p>Peter scoffs and squirms away from him. “Ew, get off.”</p><p>“Love you!” Tony calls after him as Peter slams the door. Peter ignores him.</p><p>Tony starts honking the horn, drawing stares from the other students gathered. “Say it back!” he yells.</p><p>“YUV YOU!!” Morgan screams out the window.</p><p>Peter sighs, turns around, and goes back to give Morgan a kiss. “Love you,” he says grumpily to both of them. “Even though you <em>suck</em>.”</p><p>He can hear Tony cackling as he rolls up the windows and starts the engine.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Your dad cracks me the fuck up,” Gwen says as they claim the pair of desks at the back of the classroom.</p><p>“He’s not my dad,” Peter mutters.</p><p>“Sure, orphan boy.” Gwen pushes his shoulder. “Hey, has anyone ever told him that he kind of looks like Tony Stark?”</p><p>“Please, <em>please </em>never tell him that,” Peter begs. “His stupid head would swell so much he’d never be ever to wear a hat again.”</p><p>“I can’t tell him that ‘cause you never let us come to your house.” Gwen starts pushing his shoulder again and again, making him rattle back and forth. “Come on. Invite us over. I wanna play with your sister.”</p><p>“No,” Peter says.</p><p>The defining factor of Gwen’s personality is her persistence. It’s not the patient, steady kind of persistence Peter has always had - the kind that gets back up no matter how many hits and carries on - because Gwen never even seems to get knocked down in the first place. She just keeps on going like some sort of horrible Terminator, kicking down doors and blasting any idiots who happen to find themselves in her mighty wake.</p><p>“Invite us over,” she whispers from the desk behind him in their next class.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>She pokes him directly between the shoulder blades with her sharpened pencil.</p><p>“Invite us over,” she says at lunch, with an opened packet of salt poised over Peter’s chocolate pudding, ready to dump it in.</p><p>“If I say no, are you going to fuck up my pudding?” Peter moans. Gwen shakes the salt packet threateningly.</p><p>“What have we got <em>here</em>,” comes a voice from behind them. “You bullying Pete again, Gwennie?”</p><p>“Yes,” Gwen says, never breaking eye contact with Peter, and moving the salt half an inch closer to the pudding cup.</p><p>Leo slides into the seat next to Peter, leaning his chin on his fist and watching the proceedings with interest. Gwen had aggressively recruited him to their friend group last year when he had transferred in midway through the spring. Not because Leo was tall and gorgeous, with impossibly pretty dark skin and a genius flair for DIY fashion - moreso because he loved robotics and she’d figured it was her best chance at starting an underground bot battling ring. The battle ring had never gotten off the ground, but Leo had fit in with the two of them as seamlessly as if he’d always been there.</p><p>“Give in,” Gwen orders. “I’m going to wreck your pudding and then everything you love.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Leo agrees, making the cut throat sign at Peter. “We’ll smash your DS. Hey, Gwen, what are we shaking him down for?”</p><p>“I wanna go to his house after school."</p><p>“Yeah!” Leo exclaims. “Pete, invite us over. I wanna see your room.”</p><p>“Why,” Peter groans, resting his head on his arms, “do you want to see my room?”</p><p>“I have two theories and I want to see which one’s right. Either it’s the classic skinny white boy nerd room with like, Iron Man posters and no sheets, or it’s totally decked out in granny florals and doilies and shit.”</p><p>“Neither,” Peter grumbles. “Do your worst.”</p><p>“You asked for it,” Gwen shrugs, and dumps the salt into the pudding and stirs. She ponders it for a moment, then dips her spoon in.</p><p>“You are <em>not</em> going to eat that, Gwendolyne Stacy,” Leo says, putting a hand over his heart.</p><p>“You know what,” Gwen says, after taking the first bite, “I think like, ten percent less salt would have actually improved this. It’s not bad.”</p><p>Peter sticks his finger in and licks it. “Huh, you’re right.”</p><p>After lunch Leo takes up Gwen’s cause in English Lit. Every time Mrs. Hollister turns around, Leo reaches over and aims a finger right for the ticklish spot between Peter’s ribs and hipbone. Peter can only use his senses to dodge so many times before it becomes implausible, so eventually he has to let Leo land a hit.</p><p>Unfortunately this happens to be a particularly hard poke, and Peter doubles over from a combination of a laugh and a wheeze. Mrs. Hollister turns around with murder written on her face.</p><p>“Mr. Parker, Mr. Zemlinsky,” she says flatly. “Are we finished behaving like gradeschoolers yet, or do we need a time-out?”</p><p>As soon as she turns around, Leo points threateningly at Peter with his poking finger and mouths, ‘Invite us over.’</p><p>Peter buries his face into his hands and mimes a silent scream. He looks up at Leo, mouths, ‘Fine!’ then flips him the middle finger.</p><p>His phone lights up shortly after. Leo sending a bunch of trophy and medal emojis in their groupchat, followed by a gif of Elle from Legally Blonde captioned with, “We did it!,” and Gwen replying with a gif of a twerking Squidward.</p><p><em>I hate you both and you’ll be sorry, </em>Peter texts, then switches to his conversation with Tony. <em>Can I have friends over after school? It’s okay if it’s too short notice. You can say no. We can just go somewhere else. It’s fine.</em></p><p><em>Yes I’ll make pizza</em>, Tony texts back in about five seconds, dashing all his hopes, then following it with a stack of emojis. Sunglasses, pizza, pizza, pizza, baby, spider, alien, alien.</p><p><em>The fuck is that</em>, Peter replies.</p><p>
  <em>It’s me making pizza for Morgan, and you, and your friends. The joke is that anyone who would want to be friends with you is probably an extraterrestrial wearing a human flesh suit.</em>
</p><p>“Oh shit, roasted,” Leo whispers from directly over his shoulder, where he’s clearly been hovering and watching the whole text exchange. Peter startles so badly he knocks nearly everything off his desk.</p><p>“Mr. <em>Parker!</em>”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Peter narrowly avoids a detention in English Lit, but then it hits him that detention would have gotten him out of the whole situation, so he doodles giant veiny dicks all through last period art class in an attempt to get himself thrown in the slammer. Unfortunately his stoner burnout tablemate Felicia takes way too much interest and starts giving him honest-to-God critique on his shading, and their art teacher just leaves them to it with a long-suffering look.</p><p>“Here, a present,” Peter says, throwing himself bodily into the seat next to Leo on the bus and handing him a folded-up piece of paper with ‘UR INVITED TO MY HOUSE’ scrawled on the outside.</p><p>“Hey, thanks, man,” Leo replies with genuine delight. He opens it up to reveal a paper full of dicks and ‘JUST KIDDING GO HOME DICKWAD’ printed on the inside. “I’ll treasure it. Nice shading.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Peter mutters. Gwen makes it onto the bus just as the engine starts and hurls herself on top of both of them.</p><p>“We’re going to Peter’s house,” she sings.</p><p>“Miss Stacy, this bus is not moving until you’re in your own seat,” the bus driver yells. Gwen vaults over the back of the seat and slams down next to a terrified junior.</p><p>“Peter’s hot dad’s gonna make us pizza, yes he is, hell yeah,” she continues singing, without missing a beat, while Leo croons improv backup vocals.</p><p>Once they get off the bus the annoyance fades and the reality of the situation really hits Peter. His stomach starts to hurt and his palms go clammy and sweaty. Every step they take along the long dirt road reinforces the feeling of a march towards certain doom. Gwen and Leo are beyond hyped to the point where they’re both practically skipping, occasionally bumping hips or trying to shove each other into the ditch, so they don’t notice until Peter stops walking and sits down abruptly in the dirt.</p><p>“Oh, hey, what’s wrong, baby boy?” Leo says, kneeling down in front of Peter. “Talk to me, Pete.”</p><p>“You okay?” Gwen’s tone turns abruptly motherly as she crouches down and starts rubbing Peter’s back. “Hey, what’s the matter?”</p><p>“I don’t feel so good,” Peter mumbles.</p><p>Gwen takes one of his sweaty palms, continuing to rub his back with the other. “Oh, honey. Is this that thing where you get so nervous you make yourself sick?”</p><p>“I don’t do that,” Peter defends.</p><p>“Last year’s finals beg to differ,” Gwen says.</p><p>“Aw, Petey, we didn’t mean to put so much pressure on you,” Leo says soothingly, squeezing Peter’s knee. “We don’t have to go to your house. Let’s turn around right now. We can try and hitch to Bleecker, dick around there for a while.”</p><p>Peter is very tempted to take him up on it, but Tony’s expecting them, and he’s probably hyped up Morgan too. So he takes a deep breath. “I kinda have to tell you guys something.”</p><p>“No way,” Gwen says, eyes going wide in exaggerated shock. “Your dad really <em>is </em>Tony Stark?”</p><p>“Gwennie, don’t tease him,” Leo says.</p><p>Peter winces. “Um...yes. Kind of.”</p><p>A pause.</p><p>“<em>What?</em>” Leo and Gwen shriek in unison. Leo sits down heavily on his butt, and Gwen scuttles away backwards like a startled crab.</p><p>Peter sighs. “He’s not my dad.”</p><p>Gwen’s eyes are like saucers, for real this time. “But he <em>is</em> Tony Stark.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says miserably.</p><p>“Tony Stark, Iron Man, dropped you off at school and honked the horn like an embarrassing soccer dad until you told him you loved him.”</p><p>“Uh huh.” Peter draws his knees up to his chest and buries his face into his arms.</p><p>“Well, shit,” Leo says, still flat on his butt in the dust. “I’d heard Stark had gone upstate somewhere and was running the company remotely, but...”</p><p>“How...who...what...” Gwen splutters. “Um, can we have some context here?”</p><p>“I was his intern. You know, before. And then I lost my aunt and kind of...had no one to look after me? So he kinda volunteered, but also he needed help with the baby...” Peter trails off.</p><p>“Oh my God, your sister is Morgan Stark,” Leo breathes.</p><p>“Were you worried we’d make a big deal about it?” Gwen says, recovering her composure a little and scooting back towards Peter to squeeze his wrist.</p><p>Peter squints. “Is that not what’s happening right now?”</p><p>“Point taken.” Leo stands back up, slapping the dust off the rear of his jeans. “C’mere, Pete. Upsy-daisy.” He grabs both Peter’s hands and hauls him to his feet. “Okay. I’m adjusted. You adjusted, Gwennie?”</p><p>“Yup,” Gwen says. “Shock over. Peter is Tony Stark’s adopted ward. Tony Stark is a lame dad who wears baseball hats to drop his kids off at school. Got it.” She dusts herself off daintily and links her arm with Peter’s. “Onwards!”</p><p>Peter feels a little better as they approach the house. They stop to say hello to Gerald and feed him leftover carrots from Leo’s lunch, then Peter shows them the garden, and then he can’t stall anymore.</p><p>“We’re home!” Peter calls as he bangs through the front door.</p><p>“Hey kid,” he hears Tony yell from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen, then the man himself comes into view, wearing one of his least ridiculous aprons and dusted in a light coating of flour. He wipes a hand on the apron front and extends it to Gwen.</p><p>“Hey, I’m Tony,” he says.</p><p>Gwen is clearly trying not to Make a Big Deal, so she settles for a simple “Gwen Stacy” as she shakes his hand, but Peter can tell by the glint in her eye that she’s dying to start interrogating Tony about Stark nanotech at the first opportunity.</p><p>“Leo Zemlinsky,” Leo says. Tony shakes his hand and then squints at him.</p><p>“Is that Versace? That jacket’s not even supposed to be out yet.”</p><p>“Oh, uh,” Leo says shyly, picking at the sleeves. “I kind of made it. Using the runway shots as reference. Good eye.”</p><p>“Wow!” Tony crows, leaning forward to inspect the jacket. “That’s incredible. The stitching on this is obscene. What kind of leather is that?”</p><p>Leo laughs. “Don’t know. Cannibalized it from an XXXL men’s jacket at Goodwill.”</p><p>“Genius,” Tony says appreciatively. “Hey, Gwen, Peter was telling me about your paper on biomedical nanotech the other day. You know that’s the kind of stuff I studied at MIT back in the day? It’s like kids just keep getting smarter and smarter. Maybe Morgan will be engineering little tiny doombots of her own by the time she’s in elementary school. Hey, where is she, anyways?” Having successfully distracted himself, Tony turns around, casting a suspicious eye towards the living room. “You know what they say about toddlers...it’s when the little assholes are too quiet that you start worrying...<em>Morgan!</em>”</p><p>A heavy clunking noise starts making its way towards them, accompanied by a little call of “I comin’!”</p><p>Morgan shuffles into view, looking like a literal cherub wearing the most slap-you-in-the-face adorable animal-print pinafore dress with her hair done up in tiny twin buns. She’s dragging Baby behind her.</p><p>“Petey!” she shrieks excitedly, stretching her hands towards him. Baby drops with a <em>thunk </em>to the ground.</p><p>“Shit,” Morgan says.</p><p>“Okay, that’s enough out of you,” Tony says, leaning down to collect her. She squirms out of his grasp and makes a mad dash for Peter.</p><p>“Petey, Petey, Petey,” she chants, trying to climb up his pant leg. Peter gives in with a laugh and lifts her up onto his hip. “Who dat?” she asks him, pointing towards Gwen and Leo. “Who dat?”</p><p>Since Leo is too busy trying to smother his laughter in his elbow, Gwen leans forward. “Hey, Morgan,” she says with a smile. “I’m Gwen.”</p><p>“Why she know my name?” Morgan whispers to Peter, wide-eyed. “Huh, Petey?”</p><p>“’Cause you’re famous, monkey,” Peter stage-whispers back.</p><p>“Oh,” Morgan whispers. “Hi, Gwen,” she says shyly, then buries her head in Peter’s shoulder with a squeal.</p><p>“Okay, honey, we’ve got pizza to make,” Tony says to Morgan. “Back to the kitchen. We’ll hang out with Petey and his friends later.”</p><p>“’Kay,” Morgan agrees, and does that terrifying thing where she tries to launch herself wholesale out of Peter’s arms without waiting to be put down. Peter catches her at the last second and manages to get her safely to the ground before she takes off after Tony.</p><p>“Don’t leave Baby lying around,” Tony calls over his shoulder.</p><p>“Baby!” Morgan squeals, scampering back to pick Baby up and then lugging it back towards the kitchen, one heavy clunk at a time.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Leo says, the second Peter shuts the door to his room behind them. “Your family is precious and I would literally die for them.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Peter says, with a hesitant smile.</p><p>“Seriously,” Gwen agrees. “So cute. Tony Stark in an apron.”</p><p>“Ew, don’t perv on my dad,” Peter complains.</p><p>“Oh, so he is your dad,” Leo teases.</p><p>Peter realizes what he’s said and can feel himself flushing a deep scarlet. “Ugh! No! He’s not! I just meant, stop perving on my...sort-of-dad-type...guy!”</p><p>“Hey, don’t pick on him,” Gwen says to Leo with a frown.</p><p>Peter throws himself onto his bed, quietly screaming into his pillow at the hypocrisy.</p><p>“Okay, okay, we’re sorry,” Leo says, climbing right into bed with him and spooning him. “We didn’t mean it. You’re just so damn cute when you get worked up.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Gwen agrees, squeezing herself in and cuddling him aggressively from the other side. “Our little flailing lobster son. We love you. Don’t be mad.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says sulkily, because he’s a sucker for cuddles and they both know it. “Can we play Mortal Kombat?”</p><p>“Of course we can,” Gwen says fondly, dropping a smacking kiss on the top of his head.</p><p>After a few rounds of Mortal Kombat, Leo loses interest and starts poking around the room while he lets Gwen and Peter demolish each other.</p><p>“Oh, holy shit, look at this thing!” he cries, picking up Droney. “You made this, Pete?”</p><p>“Um, Tony made it,” Peter says, twisting around to take a look. Gwen takes advantage of the split second of distraction to combo Peter’s fighter straight into oblivion. “I helped, though. Ugh, <em>Gwen</em>.”</p><p>“Fatality,” the announcer booms, as Gwen’s character eats Peter’s character’s brain in a grotesquely detailed cutscene.</p><p>“Hey, look,” Leo says. He grabs a photo frame off the dresser. “This you and Ned?”</p><p>Peter smiles as Leo sits back down next to them and hands him the photo. “Yeah,” he says. It’s a picture of them on the first day of junior high, grinning toothily on the front stoop of Ned’s house. They’re wearing matching Star Wars shirts.</p><p>“Aw,” Gwen says, resting her chin on Peter’s shoulder. “I love it. Do you have more?”</p><p>“Uh huh,” Peter says, and reaches over to dig out one of the many scrapbooks he’s made over the past year. He flips through until he finds a picture of the AcaDec team.</p><p>“Oh, you went to one of those fancy inner-city magnet schools, huh?” Gwen says. “Is that how you scored an internship with Tony Stark?”</p><p>“Yep,” Peter agrees, relieved for the built-in cover story.</p><p>Leo points to the picture. “Who’s that girl flipping off the camera behind you?”</p><p>“MJ. Michelle. You guys would’ve liked her. She’s...she was really cool.” Peter laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “I kind of had a huge crush on her.”</p><p>“Sorry, man,” Leo says. Leo’s boyfriend had been Dusted. He doesn’t really talk about it, but Peter reaches over and squeezes his hand anyways.</p><p>Tony calls them down for dinner shortly afterward, while they’re playing with Droney. He’s made a truly excessive amount of pizza, but now that Peter’s over the worst of his nerves he finds it kinda sweet. He wraps Tony in a quick hug.</p><p>“Why are you being so nice? Did aliens take your brain? Go sit down,” Tony replies gruffly, but he’s making that weird face that he always does when he’s having feelings, so Peter just grins back and turns to lift Morgan into her chair.</p><p>“Hey, can we talk about the drone in Peter’s room?” Leo says. “What’s the efficiency on that motor?”</p><p>“Around ninety percent,” Tony replies, helping himself to a slice of siciliana.</p><p>“You’re kidding. I saw that thing in motion, it was doing flips. Wouldn’t the RPM have to be at least fifty thousand?”</p><p>“Yup. Pete found a way to use a magnetic sheet to increase the heat dissipation, bumped the efficiency up by about two percent without compromising RPM.”</p><p>And they’re off, into a conversation that careens through biology, nanotech, robotics, pizza recipes, and everything in between. Morgan manages almost a full slice of pizza before getting antsy and spending the rest of the meal climbing in and out of people’s laps. When it’s Leo’s turn his face melts into an expression of pure adoration, like he’s been personally selected by a tiny angel, and he lets Morgan pick all of the basil off his pizza without complaint.</p><p>“Hold Baby,” Morgan instructs him, climbing off his lap and holding up the wrench. “I go see Gwen.”</p><p>“Anything for you, Miss Morgan,” Leo says gravely and sets Baby across his knees.</p><p>After dinner Tony sends them all outside and they elect for a raucous, shrieking game of tag with Morgan, who is surprisingly fast for her size. The rules keep getting more and more complicated as they play.</p><p>“Leo, you Bowser,” Morgan orders. She hasn’t mastered her L’s quite yet, so it comes out like <em>Yee-o</em>. “Run like Bowser.”</p><p>“Aw man, isn’t that a handicap?” Leo complains. “Can I eat people when I catch them at least?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Morgan agrees, then takes off screaming “I MARIO! I MARIO!” Leo lumbers after her roaring, and then Peter decides this is his chance to do his best Donkey Kong impression and ambles towards Gwen on his knuckles.</p><p>“No no no no no!” Gwen squeals, skipping backwards. “That’s weird and I hate it! No!”</p><p>“Ooh ooh,” Peter hoots, picking up the pace.</p><p>“Fine, then I’m Peach and I’ll kill you with my sword!” Gwen yells, picking up a stick to fend him off.</p><p>The game ends when Morgan abruptly flops onto her tummy in the middle of the grass and says “’Kay, we done.”</p><p>They all troop back inside, sweaty and exhausted. Tony makes everyone iced tea before he drives Gwen and Leo home.</p><p>“I like your friends,” Tony says on the way back from Gwen’s house. “Do you think you’ll ever have them over again, or did we scare them away?”</p><p>“Nah,” Peter says with a grin. “They loved you. You created a monster, now they’re going to be over all the time.”</p><p>“Suits me,” Tony shrugs. “Could always use more help in the lab, and you’ve found two fine new recruits for my army of child labourers.”</p><p>“You know Gwen would literally kill a man to get into your lab, right?”</p><p>“I got that impression, yeah. Good for her. I admire that kind of terrifying ambition.”</p><p>As they step into the front door, Peter turns and hugs Tony again, burying his face into his chest.</p><p>“Hi, kid,” Tony says, wrapping his arms around Peter. “What’s this all about?”</p><p>“Thanks,” Peter says. “For being a really good...sort-of-dad-type...guy.” He releases Tony abruptly and runs up the stairs to his room, yells “LEAVE SOME OF THE PESTO PIZZA FOR ME OR I’LL DIE!” for good measure, and then slams his door.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The mood always gets weightier in the weeks leading up to the anniversary of the Snap. Everywhere. News coverage is full of planned events for the memorial day, retrospectives, shitty re-enactments of the events in Wakanda, and endless speculation on the future of a halved planet. (There had been a push last year to rebrand it as ‘the Decimation’ - Peter supposes the Snap didn’t sound ominous enough - but it never really caught on.)</p><p>Everyone handles it differently. Peter’s teachers are all quieter, drawn, moving through lessons without enthusiasm. The students are pretty much evenly split between making increasingly dark jokes to cope or straight-up wandering the halls crying. Leo just stops showing up for a while. Gwen quietly sings ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ to herself as she sets out on an equally grim and maniacal study marathon that Peter knows has nothing to do with their upcoming midterms.</p><p>Last year Peter and Tony hadn’t acknowledged the anniversary in the slightest. By some unspoken agreement they hadn’t turned on the TV once in the month leading up to it. They didn’t laugh or joke much, but neither expressed any outward sadness, either. They’d just kept going, day after day, battling through the murky grey armed only with the hope that they’d come out the other side eventually.</p><p>Peter feels like they’re sharing a burden so heavy that if either one of them makes the tiniest slip, the whole thing will come down and crush them both underneath it, and they’ll never be able to get up again. They have no choice. They just have to keep going and watch their step.</p><p>Last year the fog had been so heavy that it was easy enough to just keep going with eyes straight ahead. This year Peter feels sharper, clearer, more awake. And that’s dangerous. It’s like there’s an enormous number ticker lodged behind his eyelids, counting down the minutes until he has to face his ultimate failure.</p><p>(He wonders if Tony sees it too.)</p><p>In the two weeks before the anniversary Peter visits May’s grave every day. It wasn’t like he didn’t visit often before. Every time he wanted to talk to her, he wandered out and laid on his back and just talked, sometimes for hours. Now it’s different. Now he sits with his legs crossed in front of that smooth marbled stone and stares, the words all bunched up in his throat. Tony hasn’t been to see Pepper for the entire month. Peter brings extra flowers for her and is careful to keep the stone clear of dirt and weeds. It’s all he can do.</p><p>(It’s not enough.)</p><p>Morgan is small, but even she understands that something is different. She gets fiercely clingy, screaming if Tony tries to put her down, and refusing to sleep anywhere but Peter’s bed. Tony and Peter try their best to seem normal around her but the weight is so heavy and there’s nowhere to put it down.</p><p>One night, while Morgan throws a truly epic tantrum over a vegetable that she had eaten happily the day before, Peter makes eye contact with Tony. The screams are grating on him. He’s so tired. He hasn’t been this tired since those first few months.</p><p>“Should we tell her? You know, about...”</p><p>Tony’s face cracks into something so terrifying and raw that it feels like Peter has been punched directly in the chest.</p><p>“Next year,” Tony says, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s...she’s too young.” He stands up abruptly, like he’s going to run in the other direction, then takes a deep breath and sits back down. Peter watches him put his broken expression back together, unable to look away.</p><p>“Okay, honey,” Tony says to Morgan, with only a hint of a tremble. “No corn.” He gathers her into his arms and presses his face into her hair. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Peter suddenly feels like he’s been pulled out of his own body and is watching the whole scene from five feet above. Drifting, like a spectre. All he can think is, <em>I don’t belong, I shouldn’t be here.</em></p><p>“Peter,” Tony says sharply, pulling him back down into himself. Peter gets up and leaves the table.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The night before the anniversary, Peter pushes open the door to the lab. Tony is there. He’s not doing anything. He’s just hunched over, staring at nothing.</p><p>He looks smaller and older than Peter has ever seen him. It makes something terrible well up in Peter’s chest.</p><p>“We have to talk,” Peter says loudly.</p><p>Tony doesn’t move a muscle. Just keeps staring. “Peter,” he says hoarsely, “please don’t.”</p><p>“Please don’t <em>what?</em>” Peter snaps, taking a step forward and letting the door bang shut behind him.</p><p>“I know you’re angry at me,” Tony whispers. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“How could you-” Peter runs his hands through his hair so roughly he accidentally yanks a few strands out. “Why do you have to always make everything about you? I’m mad at myself.”</p><p>That gets Tony’s attention. He looks up at Peter. His face is so grey and lined, like all the life has been sucked out of it. “What?”</p><p>“You were there. You know I couldn’t get the gauntlet off in time. I was useless-”</p><p>“Stop, Peter,” Tony says, his voice taking on a warning edge to it.</p><p>“<em>We have to talk about this</em>,” Peter yells, slamming his fist into the wall, only because he knows it’s reinforced and won’t even dent. His hand throbs instead. “We have to-”</p><p>“We <em>don’t</em>,” Tony thunders. He stands up so fast that his chair clatters to the floor behind him. “I failed the entire universe and I <em>know </em>that!”</p><p>“<em>We</em> failed!” Peter screams back at him. “I was <em>there!</em>”</p><p>“Only because you wouldn’t fucking listen to me!” Tony yells. “I didn’t <em>want </em>you to be there! I would’ve given <em>anything</em> for you not to be there!”</p><p>The words clang and ricochet through Peter’s head like bullets off a wall of steel. <em>I didn’t want you to be there. I didn’t want you. </em>They’re so loud that he can’t think straight. <em>I didn’t want you. You wouldn’t fucking listen.</em></p><p>“Fuck you!” Peter shouts, so loudly that his voice starts to go hoarse. “You should’ve let me die in space then! <em>Fuck you!</em>”</p><p>He knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that he’s crossed a line. That awful shattered look breaks across Tony’s face again, but orders of magnitude worse than the last time. His eyes are empty and haunted, and Peter <em>knows </em>Tony is watching him die all over again in his mind’s eye. He steps back, horrified at himself, and turns to throw the lab door open and sprint back up the stairs.</p><p>“Get <em>out,</em>” he hears Tony say weakly after him, before the door slams shut again.</p><p>The next morning Peter sneaks out, crawling as silently as he can out his bedroom window and dropping lightly down to the grass below. He pulls his hoodie closer against the chill and starts walking, then picks up to a jog, then to a full out run, his feet pounding as he whips through the forest, at his full enhanced speed. The scream of his muscles is a welcome distraction, each ragged breath loosening the knot behind his sternum.</p><p>Gwen meets him at the McDonald’s in Gloversville two hours later. Peter’s already eaten three combo meals and carefully disposed of the evidence, but he’s hungry and pissed enough that he orders more food when she does.</p><p>They don’t talk. Peter knows that Gwen misses her mom and most of her extended family. Gwen knows that Peter misses May, and Ned, and all the people he lost before Thanos. There’s no need to say it again. So they just keep ordering coffees and single wrapped cookies and four-packs of chicken nuggets, picking at them in silence, even though they know the girl behind the counter doesn’t give enough of a shit to kick them out today of all days.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be with your dad today?” Peter asks her, pushing fries around in a pool of ketchup.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be with yours?” Gwen shoots back.</p><p>“It’s just...suffocating in that house right now.”</p><p>“Yep,” Gwen agrees, stealing a fry. “Exactly.”</p><p>“Think we could get Leo to come out?” Peter wonders absently.</p><p>Gwen gives him a look, full of sorrow. “Not today, Pete.”</p><p>When the McDonald’s finally closes at seven, Peter insists on escorting Gwen back home. They walk hand-in-hand and in complete silence.</p><p>“Go home,” Gwen says gently as they come to a stop in front of her house. “Go be with Tony.”</p><p>“He doesn’t want me there,” Peter says, his eyes filling with unexpected tears.</p><p>“I think you know that’s not true,” Gwen murmurs, leaning over to gather Peter into a loose hug.</p><p>Peter walks back, and it takes him three hours this time. He doesn’t cut through the forest and moves at trudging pace.</p><p>When he finally crawls back through his window, his room is completely undisturbed. It doesn’t look like the door’s even been opened. He drops into his bed without changing his clothes. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t bring himself to even get under the covers. He just lays there staring at the wall until it’s impossible to tell whether he’s awake or dreaming.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Peter and Tony don’t talk for days, not really. They skirt awkwardly past each other in the kitchen and Peter spends all his time either locked in his room or wandering around the edge of the lake. He doesn’t visit May. He’s too ashamed.</p><p><em>I didn’t want you</em>, a harsh, distorted version of Tony’s voice echoes in his brain, whenever he closes his eyes. It makes him wince.</p><p>But then, sometimes, he hears Gwen: <em>I think you know that’s not true.</em></p><p>Peter desperately wants to apologize, but every time he looks at Tony all he can see is the uncharacteristic stoop in his shoulders, the exhausted tinge to his voice when he talks to Morgan, and all he can think is <em>I caused that, </em>and it hurts so much he wants to throw up.</p><p>One night as Peter is laying in bed, staring at the wall, a knock sounds on his door.</p><p>His breath hitches and he tries to force down all the irrational panic thoughts, like <em>this is it, this is when he kicks me out</em>, and calls “Come in.”</p><p>Tony doesn’t say anything, but the bedsprings creak and the mattress sinks with his weight. After a moment a tentative hand rests on Peter’s shoulder.</p><p>Tears start to roll down Peter’s cheeks. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.</p><p>“I’m so sorry, Tony,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”</p><p>The mattress shifts again as Tony lays down next to Peter and gathers him in his arms. Peter rolls over and buries his face into Tony’s soft worn AC/DC t-shirt, crying so hard he starts to hiccup.</p><p>“Oh, okay, okay,” Tony whispers, rubbing small circles in Peter’s back. “It’s okay, bambino.”</p><p>“Please don’t make me leave,” Peter says, his voice shaking so much it’s almost inaudible.</p><p>“What?” Tony says, sounding alarmed. “Why would you think that?”</p><p>“I’m eighteen now,” Peter reminds him, refusing to meet his eyes. “You - you don’t have to look after me anymore.”</p><p>“Oh, Peter,” Tony sighs, dropping a kiss on his temple. “I’m going to look after you for the rest of your life, whether you want me to or not.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because that’s what fathers do.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter says, and finally lifts his face to look at Tony directly. Tony’s crying too, but that horrible broken look is gone, and something gentle and sad has taken its place. He buries his head back in Tony’s chest and they let the pain and the tears out until there’s nothing left but a bone-deep exhaustion, and then a long dreamless sleep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Let’s go to MIT.”</p><p>“What?” Leo says, barely looking up from his stitching.</p><p>“Gwennie’s going,” Peter coaxes, sticking his head between Leo and the fabric he’s working on. “We should go too.”</p><p>“Gwen has been gunning for MIT her entire life like a heat-seeking missile aimed straight out of her mother’s womb.” Leo tries to push Peter’s head out of the way. “Two walnuts like us have no chance.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t listen to him,” Leo’s mom says as she passes through the living room, stopping to ruffle Peter’s hair. “You keep dreaming, baby.”</p><p>“See?” Peter pesters. “Your mom agrees with me.”</p><p>Leo finally puts down his project. “What is this all of a sudden, Pete?”</p><p>“I just...” Peter flaps his hands in frustration. “You’re smart, and I’m smart, and there’s no reason we can’t go to MIT.”</p><p>“Grades, extracurriculars, volunteer activities,” Leo drones, ticking them off on his fingers. “And sad essays about your life don’t work with admissions committees anymore.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’d kinda been counting on playing the orphan card,” Peter says with a frown.</p><p>“Come on, Pete,” Leo says, folding his long legs and shifting until he’s facing Peter. “What is this? Why MIT?”</p><p>Peter turns to face Leo too, sitting cross-legged, and takes both Leo’s hands in his. “Because I love you guys and I want us to stay together and Tony went to MIT and I really want to go,” he says, all in one breath.</p><p>Leo tries not to smile and fails. “What if I want to go to NYU, huh?”</p><p>“I would love you and support you and miss you every single day.” Peter thinks for a moment, then adds: “Counterpoint: MIT robotics club.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay,” Leo says. “MIT it is.”</p><p>When they bring their MIT plan to Gwen, she sits them down and gives them a round lecture to make sure they’re serious and not just fucking around. The next day she brings an enormous colour-coded binder to school filled with calculations on how they can get their grades up, volunteer activities they can sign up for, and a five-step plan to create a Mayfield Robotics Club that’s actually just Gwen’s dream underground bot battling ring disguised in admissions-friendly language.</p><p>“Let’s go to Empire State College,” Peter suggests one evening. Gwen won’t let them leave the library until they’ve scored over 95% on the practice midterm she’s designed.</p><p>“Too late, Parker,” Leo says, scribbling answers down frantically. “We dug this grave and now we’re sleeping in it.”</p><p>“I think you mixed up two sayings there.”</p><p>“It’s called a malapropism,” Gwen says, whacking Peter on the back of the head with her ruler.</p><p>Volunteer opportunities in Fulton County are few and far between, so Leo ends up leading a Girl Scout troop and Peter takes Dance and Bingo Night shifts at Johnstown Senior Center. Gwen has already been volunteering for years at county libraries and animal shelters, and when she’s feeling magnanimous she’ll swap shifts with Peter every now and again so he can take a break from breaking up bingo arguments and break up dog arguments instead.</p><p>As the days turn cold again the house seems warmer and warmer. Not just because Tony had taken on a characteristically extra summer project of building a new furnace from scratch, but also because Morgan’s first Hanukkah is bearing down on them and the excitement is contagious.</p><p>“Latkele, latkele, hop in the pan,” Morgan and Tony are belting together as Tony fries latkes at the stove. Tony is holding Morgan on his hip, her thick sweater, leggings, and little apron keeping her safe from any stray droplets of oil.</p><p>“Oh my <em>god </em>that smells so good if I don’t eat one right now I’m going to <em>die</em>,” Peter says, promptly worming his way under Tony’s other arm and making it impossible for him to use his spatula properly.</p><p>“Rest in peace, kid,” Tony says solemnly. “How was bingo night?”</p><p>“It was lit,” Peter responds, stealing the spatula from Tony and poking at the latkes.</p><p>“What’s with all this altruism all of a sudden, huh?” Tony says.</p><p>“I’m a naturally altruistic person.”</p><p>Morgan is still singing the latke song to herself at top volume. Tony taps his ear. “What?”</p><p>“It’s for college.”</p><p>“Oh,” Tony says, very obviously trying not to sound too pleased. “Well, carry on then.”</p><p>On the fifth night of Hanukkah, Peter and Tony watch Morgan sorting gelt in some kind of incomprehensible system that seems to make sense in her toddler brain. Peter has demonstrated to her over and over again that gelt is for eating, but so far Morgan has yet to unwrap a single one. Tony keeps finding them in extremely weird places and Peter accidentally triggered a temper tantrum by starting a fire without realizing Morgan had hidden a stash in the ashes.</p><p>“She’s just like her mom that way,” Tony says. Peter is lying stretched across the couch with his head in Tony’s lap, and he can feel Tony laughing. He can’t move because for once in his life he overestimated how much sufganiyot he could eat in one sitting.</p><p>“Yeah?” Peter says, smiling sleepily.</p><p>“Used to drive me nuts. I’d buy Pep all her favourite chocolate and candy for birthdays and anniversaries, and she’d just stash it in random places, like a squirrel. Then I’d get in shit if I ate any. What was she going to do with year-old chocolate, anyways?”</p><p>“Never had that problem in our house,” Peter muses. “All three of us were candy fiends. No stash ever lasted more than a week. Ben was the worst, he was like a chocolate bloodhound.”</p><p>“Oh, so that’s where you get it from.”</p><p>“Yup.” Peter grins cheekily up at Tony. “Sorry about your M&amp;M’s, by the way.”</p><p>Tony groans. “Oh, you <em>didn’t</em>.”</p><p>“I didn’t,” Peter says cheerfully. “Just fucking with you.”</p><p>“I will destroy everything you love.”</p><p>“That’s Gwen’s go-to threat, find a different one.”</p><p>“I’ll place a curse on your descendants until the end of time.”</p><p>“<em>Nice.</em>”</p><p>A few long, warm moments pass. Peter watches the fire and smiles as Morgan mutters to herself, something along the lines of <em>One, ten, free, four, go there, dat go here, </em>etc. etc. She’s too young to really count things, more just saying numbers that she knows as she plays with her gelt, but Peter still can’t help feeling insanely proud of her. That’s his little sister. She’s so cute and so weird. He wishes he could read her mind and figure out what’s going on in her baby brain. He loves her so much it makes his chest ache.</p><p>Peter can feel more than hear Tony’s breathing slowing, bordering on a snore.</p><p>“Tony, wake up,” he says. Tony snorts and jerks a little.</p><p>“Huh? What? I’m awake,” Tony grumbles. “What do you want, you menace?”</p><p>“Can you teach me to drive tomorrow?”</p><p>“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Tony says, pinching Peter’s ear. “But yeah, we can take the car out and get started.”</p><p>Tony insists they bring Morgan, probably out of a misguided notion that having a baby in the car will somehow force Peter to be a better driver. He’s wrong. There’s a lot of screaming, some crying (mostly from Morgan, a little from Peter) and the whole thing ends with Peter flinging himself out of the driver’s seat and vowing never to return.</p><p>“I don’t know why you wanted to learn to drive from this jackass,” Rhodes says a couple days later, clapping Peter on the shoulder as they get in the car. “You should’ve called me from the start.”</p><p>“Yeah, whatever,” Tony scoffs. “You only agreed when I bribed you with brisket and knishes.” He goes to open the rear door.</p><p>“Out,” Rhodes orders. “You don’t get to come along for the maiden voyage.”</p><p>“What? What do you mean? It’s my car.”</p><p>“You stress the kid out.”</p><p>“I have perfectly reasonable reactions to him driving like a goddamned maniac.”</p><p>“Pot, meet kettle,” Rhodes says, and that’s that. Tony stomps back inside, Morgan in tow, only to be vindicated when Rhodes and Peter return an hour later.</p><p>“You’re right,” Rhodes groans. “The kid is deranged. How can he be so aggressive on a rural road with literally no one else on it?”</p><p>“I’m not aggressive,” Peter protests, shucking his snow-covered boots. “I drive defensively.”</p><p>Rhodes raises an eyebrow. “Who the hell taught you that?”</p><p>“May did,” Peter says.</p><p>“Oh, the same May who punched me in the face the second time we met,” Tony says blandly. “I see.”</p><p>“Enough of this bullshit. Where’s my brisket?” Rhodes interrupts, making a beeline for the kitchen.</p><p>After dinner they light the menorah and then spread themselves out in front of the fire for a game of dreidl, which eventually gets so absurdly competitive that everyone’s yelling like it’s a football match. Morgan puts an abrupt end to it all by eating half the raisins they’re using as game pieces.</p><p>“I was going to get you a car for Christmas,” Tony says sourly, “but now I’m not so sure.”</p><p>“God, you’re a sore loser,” Rhodes says as he rolls his eyes.</p><p>“I wasn’t losing. If Morgan hadn’t eaten the pot I would’ve turned things around.”</p><p>“Don’t buy me a car,” Peter protests.</p><p>Tony sits up and turns to face him. “Why not, kid?”</p><p>“Because...” Peter searches for the words. “You’re going to get me something crazy and expensive and then I’ll just have to feel guilty about it for the rest of my life.”</p><p>“That’s not how that works,” Tony frowns. “I’m getting you a car.”</p><p>“You are <em>not</em>.”<br/><br/>Rhodes grins. “You two are so fucking strange. It’s delightful.”</p><p>“I’m not strange,” Tony says. “He’s strange. What kid doesn’t want a car? Wouldn’t it be easier than having to take the bus everywhere? Transit out here is so shitty.”</p><p>“Don’t want it,” Peter says, then plants his face into the carpet.</p><p>“What are you doing? You think you can hide from me like an ostrich or something? You can’t escape this conversation. What if I agreed to a budget?”</p><p>“Fifty dollars,” Peter mumbles into the floor.</p><p>“Two thousand.”</p><p>“Too much.”<br/><br/>“What? That’s what a beater goes for these days. Don’t be obtuse.”</p><p>“Three hundred.”</p><p>“Fine,” Tony agrees, sounding utterly exasperated. “Three hundred.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Peter figures he’s safe, since he’s pretty sure Tony has never owned anything that cost less than three hundred dollars in his entire life and probably can’t even conceptualize that amount of money.</p><p>He’s wrong. On Christmas Day, after Morgan has unwrapped her presents and proceeded to start playing with the boxes instead, Tony throws him a tiny package.</p><p>It bounces off Peter’s forehead. “Ow.”</p><p>“Open it,” Tony says with a suspicious amount of glee.</p><p>It’s a set of very worn car keys. Peter looks up. “Tony...” he says.</p><p>“It’s under budget. Come see.” Tony jogs to the front door and flings it open. Peter follows hesitantly.</p><p>There in the driveway is an old, boxy, rusted, utterly beat-to-shit turquoise station wagon.</p><p>Peter takes one step, then another, then takes off at a run towards the car. He inspects it from every angle and then turns back to Tony.</p><p>“I...I kinda <em>love </em>it,” he says, feeling a little overwhelmed.</p><p>“I knew you would,” Tony brags. “1995 Honda Accord. Sturdy as hell but great driving dynamics. This thing’s older than you are, kid. Got it on Craigslist for two fifty.”</p><p>Peter hurls himself into Tony’s chest, nearly knocking him over. “I take back every time I ever talked back to you this is the best car I’ve ever seen I love it and did I mention you’re also the best dad ever and I love you,” he says so fast that it comes out in a barely-intelligible jumble.</p><p>Tony bear hugs him back. “We’re gonna have so much fun fixing this thing up. Let’s put armor on it.”</p><p>“And flamethrowers.”</p><p>“Spikes on the front. Turret gun on the back.”</p><p>“Mounted tablet on the backseat for Morgan’s movies.”</p><p>“Badass.”</p><p>The station wagon isn’t driveable yet (Peter doesn’t ask how Tony managed to get it into the driveway in the first place), but Tony lets Peter drive his car on their way into New York for Christmas dinner at the Avengers compound. Peter only freaks out once when a lifted pickup cuts him off on the highway and Tony does his best to deep breathe through the whole thing. It’s progress.</p><p>“Hey, there’s my kids,” Rhodes says when they arrive, gathering all three of them into his arms at once and kissing them each soundly on both cheeks. “Look at these three, Bruce. They’re so grown up.”</p><p>“Aw, you’re right,” Bruce says. “Look, Tony’s even got some greys coming in.”</p><p>“Fuck you,” Tony says happily, enveloping Bruce in a crushing embrace while Natasha and Steve melt down in tandem over Morgan’s little red Christmas dress complete with matching green bows in her hair.</p><p>A woman Peter doesn’t know approaches him and promptly wraps him in a hug of her own. “Hey, Peter Parker,” she says warmly. Her voice sounds sort of familiar.</p><p>“Hi,” Peter says nervously.</p><p>“Carol, last time you saw the kid he was dead,” another woman calls from behind her. “Honey, that’s Carol Danvers. I’m Maria, and this is my daughter Monica.”</p><p>“Oh!” Peter says, a lightbulb going off in his head. “You’re Captain Marvel! Wow! You totally saved my life, and also you’re like super strong and could probably blow up a planet with your bare hands!”</p><p>Carol laughs and releases him. “Haven’t tried yet. Good to see you in the land of the living, kid.”</p><p>“Good to see you too,” Peter says, feeling shy and awkward but also thrilled. “Um...thanks. For everything.”</p><p>Carol grins at him and punches his arm, and then Natasha is muscling in for a hug and everyone’s offering him Christmas cookies and the gathering is suddenly in full swing.</p><p>On the drive back home, Peter watches Tony for a while. His profile is soft and indistinct in the flickering streetlights, and then the headlights of passing cars on the highway.</p><p>“What’s up, kid?” Tony says, still watching the road carefully. Peter remembers a time long ago when Tony had picked him up for one of the few evenings he’d spent at the Compound. Tony had never watched the road then, turning around and happily chattering to Peter while skillfully weaving through traffic in his flashy Audi at a terrifying speed. It seems so far away. Almost like a dream.</p><p>“You don’t have to try so hard to get along with Steve,” Peter says. Tony doesn’t visibly react and takes his time to think that over.</p><p>“Where’s this coming from?” he says at last. “Weren’t you the one all excited for the band to get back together?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter admits. “I was wrong. I’m sorry I pushed you about it so much.”</p><p>“Pete, you weren’t wrong. Your intentions were good.”</p><p>“I know,” Peter says. “And I know you’re trying. I can really tell. It just seems like...if it’s been this long and you still have to try so hard, something really bad must’ve happened.”</p><p>Tony hums. “I thought you knew what happened.”</p><p>“I thought I did too,” Peter says. “Like, the whole thing with the Winter Soldier and your parents. But I know there was something that went down after you found out, and you got hurt, bad. I overheard Nat and Rhodey talking about it once.”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter,” Tony says brusquely. “Past is past.”</p><p>“No it’s not,” Peter argues. “It’s not okay if someone hurts you.”</p><p>“You sound like a Captain America PSA.”</p><p>“<em>Tony</em>.”</p><p>Tony sighs, long and heavy. “Okay. I’m sorry, deflecting is what I do. Peter, I’ve had years and years to think about it. Years to ask myself questions like, what if the Winter Soldier had been someone important to me. Someone like you, or Rhodey. What if it were Steve’s parents? Would I be able to keep a secret like that from him to protect someone I loved that much?”</p><p>“And?” Peter says quietly.</p><p>“Without a doubt.”</p><p>“What about the thing that happened after?”</p><p>Tony pauses. Peter watches his brow furrow.</p><p>“I don’t know, kid. That’s where it gets fuzzy for me. I just don’t know.”</p><p>“Okay,” Peter whispers.</p><p>“Oh, bambino.” Tony takes one hand off the steering wheel and grasps Peter’s fingers in his own. “You don’t have to worry about us old men and our grudges. I know I brought you into it, and it was because I was a selfish stupid asshole and I wasn’t thinking straight, but I’m telling you now you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”</p><p>“I’ll always worry about you,” Peter counters, frowning. “And you can’t stop me.”</p><p>“God, kid, you are such a mensch. What am I going to do with you?” Tony laughs.</p><p>“Always listen to me and tell me everything and be my best friend forever.”</p><p>Tony pulls into the driveway and throws the car into park. “Yeah, okay,” he says with a grin, squeezing Peter's hand. “I can do that.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ho ho, a new chapter in record time! I'm really feeling like I want to push through and finish this. Thank you all for your sweet comments, and I hope you don't mind terribly that I've neglected replies a little in order to finish this chapter a bit faster. You guys are the best.</p><p>P.S. Spot the comics/Spider-Verse references, lmao. &lt;3</p>
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